


Evidence

by UnderTheFridge



Series: Evidence [1]
Category: Alien Series, Alien: Covenant, Alien: Isolation (Video Game), Aliens (1986), Prometheus (2012), Real Steel (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Androids, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Crossover, Gen, Post-Canon, Slow Build, professional heartbreaker and occasional circuit breaker Christopher Samuels, techno-gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2018-11-22 08:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 39
Words: 31,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11376168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderTheFridge/pseuds/UnderTheFridge
Summary: “I mean there is one time when a robot may strike a human without breaking the First Law. Just one time.”“And when is that?”“When the human to be struck is merely another robot.”‘Evidence’ (Asimov, 1946)(a.k.a. the illegal-synthetic-fight-club AU that nobody asked for, with bonus Amanda/Samuels because she is still Not Over That, and co-starring Career Woman Nina Taylor)





	1. Prologue - Date Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InterferonAlpha (Interferon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interferon/gifts).



Amanda stands up, away from her date, the sudden change making her a little dizzy. It allows a few seconds where he takes hold of her arm.

“Are you ok? Where are you going?”

“Home,” she says firmly. Her head is still swimming, under the bright lights. All she can see is concrete and people, people and concrete. The roof of the warehouse blocks out the star-studded sky like a landing cargo-class and if a ship could descend and lift her up and away right now, that would be great.

“Aw, really?” He sounds disappointed, but he surely must have sensed that this evening wasn’t quite heading in the right direction. They were two different people, that’s all. “You don’t wanna stay and watch?”

“No thank you,” she says, polite as a synth, a default response wrangled from the part of her that doesn’t want to run screaming into the night. He lets go of her. “And I don’t want a second date. You’re nice, but - there’s someone else out there for you. And it’s not me.”

He probably didn’t expect this revelation dropped on his head, but it’s there between them, and he retreats in the face of it. “I understand. It’s been great, Amanda - I’m sure there’s someone out there for you too.”

“Thank you.” She smiles, warmly, most of the warmth coming from the idea that she can now escape. “Have a good time.”


	2. Creeper Joe

_ Every1 complaining about quality is right smh this dude films right from the back w/ a fucking potato or smth this is crap _

_ ok but, what about weapons, because I’m pretty sure I saw that somewhere, but I can’t find the video, does anyone know about it…  _

_ insane LOL! _

 

**

 

“So,” Nina says, licking foam off a spoon in a way that makes an art student across the room nearly drop her tablet, “Creeper Joe.”

“He wasn’t called Joe,” Amanda mutters, stalling. “And how are you  _ already _ sure he was a creeper?”

“Because you look like you had a date from hell.”

“I didn’t even have a date. Not technically.”

“That bad?”

“You tell me. You found me in bed at 11am with the  _ Dirty Dancing _ soundtrack still playing .”

Nina sniffs and reaches over to break one of Amanda’s cookies in half, taking the smaller piece. “It’s your fault for having that fancy sound system.”

“I told it to turn off, and it wouldn’t listen.”

“You shouted at it when you were drunk, most likely. It’s not calibrated to Drunk Amanda.”

Amanda doesn’t have a response for that, other than sighing and pouring more coffee into her face. “Creeper Joe, then.”

“The floor is yours, sister.”

“Like I said - not called Joe. And not a creeper. He was ok, really. Almost  _ normal. _ ” She pokes at her phone in disgust. “Why did you make me install this thing, really?”

“Because you’re sad and lonely and about this close to starting a cat sanctuary,” Nina says, through a mouthful of cookie. “Continuéz-vous,  _ s'il vous plaît _ .”

“Ugh. Ok, so we had a drink. And I’m thinking, this guy is ok. Not boyfriend material. But nice. I could have a  _ good _ evening, and then we’d split the bill, and he wouldn’t, at any point, try to grab my ass.”

“ _ Sorry, I was going for my wallet, _ ” Nina imitates, and they both make a face.

“Exactly. He’s nice. And then he says he’s into sports - don’t look at me like that. As in, sports. Football. Sports! And it’s obvious he’s going somewhere, but hey. I like sports, too - I can sit through a couple of hours of whatever, as long as it’s good. Baseball. Soccer. Not, you know….”

“Curling?”

“Yeah, sure.” She looks into the bottom of her cup, and pushes it away to rest her chin on her hand. “So I follow along, to see where he’ll take me, and it’s  _ fighting _ .”

“You’re ok with that, though? Boxing or MMA or something, I don’t know? That.”

“Sure, yeah. But -” she pauses, because Mark has come to take her cup. She knows he’s called Mark, because they’re all called Mark (or Madison, for the females). This Mark works for - belongs to - the little independent cafe. He has a messed-up hip joint and no ear on the right-hand side. He doesn’t speak much, because his synthesiser sounds weird. He’s old, and parts are rare and expensive. “Thank you, Mark.”

He smiles at her. He’s actually also missing all of his bottom teeth, but it doesn’t show.

Amanda waits for him to go, before leaning forward to Nina. “ _ Synthetic _ fights.”

Nina’s eyes widen. “Like you see on TV?”

“No, those are  _ robot _ fights. They’re not - um, intelligent. Or, sentient. No, it’s - it’s  _ illegal _ , Nina.”

“I get it. So he takes you to synth fight club?”

“At least, it’s a legal grey area. And anyone with a  _ conscience _ would  _ never _ force any of them into any situation where they were harming another sentient being without a human needing to be saved from direct danger - they don’t do it  _ naturally _ . It takes… well, you know. You’ve read Dr Lanning’s book.”

“You made me read it,” Nina says. “So, yes. So you dumped him?”

“Straight away,” Amanda says earnestly. “I mean, I wasn’t  _ rude  _ \- and I didn’t tell him why - but yeah, I dumped his ass. Told him it wouldn’t work out and ran away.”

“Please,  _ please _ tell me you actually ran.”

“Not… really? Kinda. Yeah. But he’s ok with it.”

“And that’s why you turned to alcohol and soft rock ballads.”

“No. Yes. He seemed so  _ normal _ …. I thought I had a chance, but no. What are you doing?”

Nina looks up from her phone. “Browsing for cat beds that go with your furniture.”

“Hey!”


	3. Comments Section

_ GET REKT lmao _

_ Can’t even see what happened there - any chance someone’s slowed it down? _

_ Ok this is really fucking cool ngl but why?? would you risk one of *those*?? in that kind of arena??? they’re lucky he won, I don’t even wanna think about the cost… these people *clearly* have money to burn?? jfc… _

 

**

 

“I won’t start that battle again,” Amanda says, starting her computer.

“I’m not gonna bother with people who are never going to change,” she says, looking at the thing he shared.

“I won’t look at any of the materials,” she says, clicking play.

The footage is bad enough in quality that they might as well be humans, and that’s fine. She’s glad she ran from that date - it’s obviously filmed in the same place. That’s a dangerous thing to do, and a good way to get arrested (and the event shut down). In that sense, she’s glad that he’s so stupid. Maybe some consequences will come of it.

“No, I don’t want to see similar!” she snaps at the screen. She just wants to anonymously argue with people in the comments. Perhaps not a productive thing to do, but it makes her feel better after a hell of a day.

Half the links are dead anyway, so it’s a waste of time. She could get back to some of the sources, but they change constantly and a new crop emerge. It’s not clear where they come from. Sometimes, the address is only mentioned in the video itself, so you have to watch at least part of it.

She watches long enough to get a little information, then all at once she’s feeling sick and backing away from the screen. She staggers to her feet and rubs her head, and closes the window with the other hand. Enough is enough. Even a virtual shouting match has lost its appeal, and all she wants to do is go to bed instead.

Lying with the glow of the night-light, she thinks about how they looked like him, and doesn’t sleep.


	4. Industrial Accident

_New model synth: $50 000+. Appearance mods: $600. Tournament entry: $1000. Fights like this: PRICELESS._

_Wow fuckin DESTROYD that,s sick_

_Not gonna brag or nothin but I seen dis guy live (or IRL u get me) and he is mental for real like there nothin stoppin this dude everything u put up gainst him gon get wrekt he dont give a fuck I wouldnt even try that shit if I had one I’d be like hell no_

 

**

 

The Weyland-Yutani spokeswoman appears fairly artificial under the lights of the film crew, but Caroline is not one of them. She just looks like that.

Caroline is reading a prepared statement, but she doesn’t sound like a corporate drone - she sounds as if someone has asked her a question and she’s patiently, kindly, explaining it to them, without being the least bit patronising. Everything about her is professional and assured. Looking into her eyes is calming. The lines of her suit are crisp yet casual. Staring at her eyebrows gives one a sense that everything is right with the world.

Nina would ask her out, if she wasn’t such a corporate drone.

Shen is wringing his hands next to her, watching Caroline intently and insisting to everyone that he isn’t at all nervous (even people who haven’t asked).

“Chill,” Nina tells him, and he doesn’t. Caroline tosses a perfect lock of hair over her shoulder and rearranges the microphone clipped to her blazer.

“It’s fine,” Shen says, chewing his thumbnail.

“Of course it’s fine. It’s not a First Law v-.”

“No it’s not,” he says immediately, “but try telling _them_ that,” meaning the rest of the world, the ones being addressed with this broadcast. “Who leaked it? If I get my hands on them...”

“Do we still not know?”

“There’s a full investigation underway but there’s not a lot coming up. You can’t sort through a human memory like a synth’s. Well… it’s unethical. Whoever they are I want to call them in and make them do all the overtime I’ve been doing. Give them all the headaches I’ve had.”

“It’ll be fine.” Nina shifts a folder from hand to hand. “So, is this the point I admit I didn’t read the statement?”

“Nina!”

“I didn’t have time this morning, ok? I _know_ you were working all night. It came out exactly as I was leaving the house, and the wireless on the train was faulty and I didn’t want to read a confidential press release with someone staring over my shoulder….”

Shen sighs around his thumbnail. “Basically - it was an industrial accident.”

“Which we know.”

“Yes. But - the muscles of an activated synthetic have a certain percentage of stored tension even when not in use. Poke that in the wrong place and it will spring back at you. Like when the doctor taps your knee with a hammer. It’s not a conscious reflex and it’s an accepted risk of the procedure that the maintenance crews perform. Their contract covers it all. The risk assessments make mention of it. They’re dealing with _damaged robots_ , you expect a certain amount of unpredictability.”

“And that’s the statement?”

“Essentially. One - the employee was performing a maintenance task which has certain elements of risk. Two - they fell foul of this risk by accident. Three - they weren’t harmed, because even the… the backlash isn’t forceful enough to hurt a human. Four - they’re fine. And they’re not suing. They’re making no fuss whatsoever.”

“Did you write it?”

“Hm? No. I wrote the report and Corporate Comms pulled the salient points out into what she’s saying. Why?”

“No reason.” Nina tries to imagine Shen delivering assurances in Caroline’s polished, soothing tone, and can’t.

“WeYu is prepared to give a tour of their maintenance facilities to anyone who wants to see what goes on - subject to confidentiality. It’s like any other workshop. Malfunctioning devices can pose minimal risks to those working on them.”

“D’you really have to call them _devices_?”

“I’m using general terminology.”

“Terminology that isn’t approved by anyone, least of all people with synthetic assistants….”

“I don’t need this, Taylor.”

“Were you up all night with the technical people?”

He rubs his head, then goes back to wringing his hands. “It’s like they speak a different language….”

She can’t help but snort at that.

\--

“That woman,” Amanda says, nodding at the screen, “is she…?”

“No,” Nina replies, retrieving her coat. “She just looks like that.”

Naturally, she has to give Amanda a precis of the whole situation, minus the confidential parts.

“There aren’t many, though. Say what you like about WeYu - and I know you do - but we’re transparent about our industrial accidents.”

“You’re calling it an industrial accident?”

“These things happen. And - my opinion, not endorsed by anyone - I think that’s exactly what it was. I’ve seen the full report.”

“So whoever was talking about a First Law violation….”

“Doesn’t know what they’re talking about. It wasn’t a conscious action and it didn’t harm a human. The human involved knows the risks of the procedure. The only thing I can think of… well, it’s uncharitable, but they could have been messing around. Or not paying attention. That’s the only cover-up here.”

“And the person who leaked it?”

Nina lowers her voice, hiding behind her glass. “We don’t know yet. But I’ll imagine they thought they had a story. And they don’t.”

“That’s pretty clear.” Amanda followed the news - naturally - and she’s seen it rise and fall, a brewing scandal popped like a balloon full of hot air. “They weren’t even there?”

“No, they weren’t. And they don’t have all the information. In the next couple of days, I’ll bet you that the ‘tragic victim’ will talk to the press. Trust me, it’ll be boring.” She pokes her straw back into her shake. “So, how’s your life?”

“Much less interesting than yours, I guess.”

“Pfft. I wasn’t even involved, I don’t deal with that department. AI-human interaction is a whole different legal ball game. Anyway. Are you still arguing with internet strangers?”

Amanda’s guilty twitch says it all. “I’m trying to cut down.”

“Good. It’s not healthy.”

“Neither is what they’re doing!” She rests her forehead gently on her hand. “I know, I shouldn’t watch, I shouldn’t engage. One of the - one of them looked like _him_ , Nina.”

“There are thousands of those models in circulation,” Nina replies gently.

“I know. It just…. What if it was him? What would I do?”

“There’s very little you _can_ do. Sorry, but that’s true. If you _must_ do something… give the evidence to the police, or to us. They might be able to do something. In the long run.”

“Some of them _died_ ….”

“Look, they might go down - and I don’t want to see that any more than you do - but apparently it’s very hard to kill them completely. I’ll get some of the technical literature for you, if you want….”

“No,” Amanda says. “Believe me, they weren’t coming back from _that_.”


	5. A Terrible Idea

_ Perfection, thy name is [whatever his name is] _

_ So, I’m not expert but I kinda got hooked so spent all night watching these (and I have class tomorrow, ohwell) and… like I say I’m not an expert at all, but it’s so aggressive! What happens to make that possible? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. Surely you can’t get them to do that without some heavy mods, and that’s meant to be impossible? Idk maybe it’s not as ‘bad’ as it looks, or it’s staged or whatever, but I’ll be honest I wouldn’t go anywhere near that thing. Just to be safe. _

_ thumbs up if u nutt _

 

**

 

“I’m sorry I walked out on you.” She looks down, apparently contrite but actually trying not to trip over the stone steps. She is, to be honest, a little drunker than she needs to be. Or perhaps a lot. “I… just had a hard break-up, and… you know.”

“I know,” he says. He’s not sober enough to support her properly - matching Amanda drink-for-drink is not something to be attempted by amateurs - and she’s thankful for her sensible shoes.  “But thank you, even if this is… just a friend thing. Friend date.”

“Mm. We can be friends.” They can’t, but that’s another issue.

Amanda knows by now that she could never be a secret agent. She feels bad using someone to obtain information, and covers it with alcohol, and only secret agents in movies manage to make that one work. On the plus side, the pleasant fuzz in her brain is insulating her from what she’s about to see.

“You know,” he says, sagely, “they’ll spar with each other if you let them. Especially different models.”

“I’ve heard that,” she says. And in a way, it’s true; they will. In the same way that they’ll fence, or swim, or play tennis. Of course there are videos - it’s legal, for a start - and she can watch quite comfortably. Testing each other, without harming each other.

“The only way to stop them is by throwing a human in there.”

She nods, wide-eyed, although that’s definitely not true. When they fight legitimately - like ultra-fast judo - they start by agreement and stop when they’re done. There’s no animosity. No damage. And no blood.

There’s going to be blood here.

The garden terrace is sunken into the side of the hill, like a small amphitheatre. They had to go through a gate and up a back trail to get here - even more reason for sensible shoes - and the house is barely visible as a multi-edged roofline against the setting sun. Whoever lives there knows what’s going on. The crowd aren’t trespassing. Amanda looks around, trying to see if the landowner might be here, but many of them look like they own houses like this. Creeper Joe (the fairly normal guy whose name isn’t Joe) is a friend of someone, and that someone has money. That’s all she knows, and she’s too drunk to play detective.

The small machines are actually fun to watch - bipedal and roughly humanoid, about two feet tall, but far from human. They’re like children’s toys, glittering in the lights, metal and paint. Modular construction, so parts can be swapped out once they take too many hits. 

Amanda feels like turning to her ‘date’ and saying ‘see, I don’t mind this. Why can’t the rest of you just be happy with this?’ She’s still just about sober enough to realise that that’s a bad idea.

One of the combatants falls, missing a leg. The other stops and stands for the count, its faceless skull nodding gently. Put them opposite each other and they’ll fight, but once one is down then they instantly lose interest. The loser flops for a while, until someone reaches in and turns it off. Both are carried away for repair.

“That was great,” he says. “I liked the blue one.”

He sounds like a kid, and Amanda forces a smile. “I did too.”


	6. Statement

_ Hahaha oh my godddd this guy! pulls his droid out of there wat a legend, he’s gonna be remembered forever as that coward who didn’t want the beatdown to happen! he’s lucky the other one didn’t beat on him, that’s just bc he’s human _

_ So. Much. Blood. _

_ FUCK YES dats what Im talkin bout _

 

**

 

The small kitchen is half-full of film equipment and doesn’t have the clean lines of the studio, and Nina squeezes herself into a chair by a tripod and takes a coffee, for lack of anything better to do.

“Don’t worry,” she says, “I’m just here as a precaution. You already know what you’re going to say, and you’re telling the truth.”

The woman - her name is Magda - smiles thinly, not meeting Nina’s eyes. “I’m not scared of a lawyer.”

“That’s good.”

“I thought I would lose my job, though.”

“Oh, no - not for being injured. The company would have to prove beyond all doubt that you were doing something you shouldn’t, and then after the investigation, there would be -.”

“Not for that. For when - for when someone told people about the accident.”

“Ah.” Nina nods. “Yes, they did blow it out of proportion, but it wasn’t your fault. Although we still don’t know who it was.” It’s an unsubtle line of questioning, but she’s still curious.

“I talk to a lot of people,” Magda says with a shrug. “I talk about work sometimes. I’m not a quiet person - ask my mother. I don’t give away any secrets, but… if something happened to me, I’ll talk about it. Look.” She shows the fading bruise on her arm. “The hand did this, when he hit me. That’s all. That’s what I would have told them, and they made it into this… into a fuss.”

It sounds to Nina like she’s almost trying to convince herself. It doesn’t quite ring true.

“Off the record,” she says, lowering her voice, “if you knew who it was who went to the press - even though they were wrong about what happened - would you want to protect them?”

“Yes,” Magda replies confidently. “I don’t want them to be in trouble, even though they  _ were _ wrong.”

“Ok.” Nina isn’t going to try and get it out of her: more persuasive types have tried, and failed. The company is content to denounce them without knowing their name. “But please be careful - we don’t want this kind of thing happening too often. People get over-excited. And I don’t need more work….”

Magda smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s still worried, Nina thinks, that they’ll find some way to blame this on her. Especially if they can’t locate the leak.

“Don’t worry. This will all die down. Just wait.”


	7. Garden Party

_ Fuckin BRUTAL!!! _

_ I’m confused; my little cousin (he’s ten) says this isn’t a 7, it’s an 8 - and he knows his robots. Does anyone know? He can identify them very well, but I thought that the 8 wasn’t out yet? He must be wrong, but he insists that this is a new version (which won’t be here for 6 months or more!). Can anybody solve this for me? _

_ Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No it’s someone else’s head _

 

**

 

“Give me a minute,” Amanda says, with as much dignity as she can manage. She wanders away through the fashionable landscape of the garden, past a decorative water feature, and vomits into the nearest shrub.

“Ohmygod,” a girl catches her arm on the way back. “Are you ok? You look ill.”

“Yeah, I… I had too much to drink.”

She wants to return to the crowd and her oblivious date before she loses her nerve, but accepts a bottle of water and some drunken conciliatory pats on the shoulder, and waits until her new friend meanders away in some other direction. Thus purged, she actually does feel a lot better. Steady, yet detached. The plastic bottle crackles in her hand as she takes her place.

Neither of them bring back the wrong memories, which is nice. If she concentrates a little, she can see a slight weariness in both, a stoop in their posture, a long-buried reluctance slowing them down. It’s all rather tame. A swift kick to the face - nearly too fast to see - drops one to his knees. The other moves forward to help him up, and a human moves them apart with a long stick. He gets up on his own.

Not too bad, so far. Amanda takes another sip of water, and wonders if she can make an excuse and leave now. The longer she stays, the more complicit she’ll feel - even if all the bouts are like this one - and the harder it will be to keep from reacting. She doesn’t think she’ll throw up again, even if she sees blood, but Nina isn’t here to keep her from doing something rash. Possibly involving punching. (Although when she considers punching, as satisfying as it would be, she realises that the synthetics would protect the humans from her fists - even the ones that forced them to fight for entertainment. It makes her throat sting.)

She stares at the ground for most of it, just to be sure. One finally goes down, and stays down. The other is encouraged to kick him while he’s on the floor, and wavers rocking on his heels, because his directives are conflicted. The action is unnecessary and he doesn’t want to damage a colleague, but the human is giving him an order. A chant of ‘do it’ starts up. He turns away. A human walks up and shoves him in the chest, shouting at him, but he shakes his head. It doesn’t matter what the humans do; his inhibitors are maxed. Unless he’s attacked, he won’t fight any further.

Meanwhile, the other gets to his feet. He’s inert, seemingly indifferent, waiting for another command. And something hits him in the back.

He flies a good ten feet. Amanda spits out a mouthful of water in pure shock.

Several humans scream and jump back. His body crumples at the base of the steps; he’s still active, but stunned. She sees, out of the corner of her eye, his opponent being dragged away, the human owner suddenly frantic and practically beating a path away from the ring. At least one of them is safe from whatever’s coming.

The humans part, and it’s another synthetic. A collective ‘ooh’ rises into the night air (Amanda isn’t a part of that).

The one on the steps is turning over, righting himself slowly and carefully. He gets to his feet. White blood trails from his nose, but he’s otherwise functioning.

The newcomer stands back while he does that, silent and patient - then grabs him by the throat. Despite not needing to breathe, he’s still driven to defend himself, clawing and making no difference whatsoever. In a lazy overarm, his opponent drops - no, slams - him to the floor.

He lands badly and something snaps. His right arm isn’t working as it should. He swipes one-handed. The other grabs his wrist and snatches it in, bringing his head into a waiting knee with an audible  _ crunch _ . His nose is streaming white, and he staggers - blows to the head are just as unwelcome as for a human, though they can recover faster and survive more.

Amanda wants to run, but her feet are rooted.

He collapses onto his back on the floor, and this is what she was afraid of seeing - he’s trying to get away, dragging his backside with one functional arm. Sometimes, the humans in the videos pick them up and throw them back together, but it’s rarely fruitful. If they’ve taken enough damage to want to escape, nothing can bring them back into the fight. It’s horrible for her to watch, but this is where it ends.

The other one doesn’t stand down, and she starts to get a feeling that something is wrong. 

He walks forward, fluid and balanced, bends and seizes his opponent by the front of his shirt and says something to him, inaudible to the crowd. The other flinches, which turns into a whole-body shudder.

A  _ crack _ , and his head is suddenly the wrong way round.

The other synthetic lets him drop, twitching. The crowd surges, and Amanda gasps. And just like that, it’s over.

That’s when she runs.

\--

“I’m sorry,” she says, insincerely. “That was kinda gross - I had to go throw up again.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, rubbing her back.

“No more cocktails for me… I think I’ve gotta go home. Thanks though.”

“There’s not always that much blood,” he assures her sagely. “Although if you stayed - oh man, you should have seen what he did to him after….”

Amanda doesn’t want to know. No amount of alcohol can remove the knowledge that a neck-snap isn’t necessarily enough to render them dead - or unconscious.

“There’s something wrong with him,” she says savagely, pushing her way through the undergrowth back to the street.

“What? Oh, not really - he’s a good fighter but I think it’s just because he’s fast, you know, like  _ super _ fast….”

“ _ No _ .” Her patience for this charade has run out. “There  _ is _ something wrong with him, because they don’t attack each other. Not unprovoked.”

“But -.”

“You’ve seen enough of this shit, right?” She almost feels sorry for the guy, now - if only he hadn’t followed her out of concern, he wouldn’t be on the receiving end of intoxicated rage. “You know how it goes. They have to be  _ forced _ to fight each other! A little… a little show of martial arts is fine but to make them actually  _ attack _ with intent to cause  _ damage… _ that’s hard, it’s almost  _ impossible _ .”

“But you can tell them to….”

“No matter what you tell them, they can barely do it!” He’s out of his depth, and starting to back away. “The behavioural inhibitors are hard-wired, you can’t circumvent them - but he! He just did it!”

“You could mod….”

“Not like that - not without killing them. Have you ever seen a synth kick another one when they’re down?”

“Well, I….”

“ _ Ever _ ?”

“Um… no. But I’m not really an exp-.”

“Exactly! But he’s willing to do it! Who the hell is he? Where’s he from? He’s dangerous!”

They stare at each other in the sudden silence of the empty street. Her hands are balled into fists, and her head hurts as if the hangover is kicking in already. He looks crestfallen and not a little confused.

“So… do you want to go home now?”


	8. Post-It(TM)

_ Welp, voided HIS warranty…. _

_ How to make other synths your bitch - Step 1: put this guy in the ring. That’s it there are no other steps. _

_ this is sooo mental :O but he cute tho XD _

 

**

 

“Are you insane?!”

“I know I said I wouldn’t,” Amanda keeps one hand pressed to her forehead, flapping the other in an attempt to calm Nina down (and hopefully lower her volume). “But he’s not  _ that _ bad, and if he remembers as little as I do….”

“Amanda, this isn’t about your date! You could have been arrested!”

“I had to see it.”

“So you’ll be better at arguing with strangers on the internet?”

“...ugh.”

“Amanda, please!” Nina slams her fork down, making Amanda wince. “I don’t care how curious you are - you’re going to get yourself into trouble. Promise me you won’t do it again. Watching the videos is bad enough - don’t give me that look, I know you’re still doing that - but I’m not bailing you out if you get caught.”

“Message received and understood,” Amanda says, placing her head on her arm. “Now please stop yelling.”

“I’m sorry.” Nina relaxes a little. “I shouldn’t shout at you when you’re fragile. But I’m only concerned. And I’ve had a tough time at work.”

“I thought everyone was over that?”

“These things rumble on, don’t they? It’s nearly done. Give it another week - something else will come along. And now everyone’s seen the ‘casualty’, and the miniscule bruise from where he hit her….”

“Mm-hm. Sounds fine. Why are you frowning?”

“Nothing.” Nina grabs her phone and notes something down. “I just had a thought.”

“So did I,” Amanda says, “last night. Probably around 4am, but don’t quote me.” Without  taking her head from its prone position, she peels a note out of her pocket and throws it onto the table.

Nina takes it. “This just says ‘I’VE SEEN HIM BEFORE’ in big letters.”

“I know. It was stuck to my computer, in the middle of the screen. I must’ve put it there before I passed out.”

“Does this refer to Creeper Joe? Because you  _ have _ seen him before… but why would you remind yourself of that?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember.”

“Drunk Amanda obviously thought it was important.”

“Drunk Amanda didn’t take her shoes off, and I had to change my sheets.” Her phone buzzes. “And now he’s texting me. I don’t think he remembers the debate we had about behavioural inhibitors. I don’t really remember it. But I know we had one.”

“You’re as terrible offline as you are online.”

“Thanks. I guess.”


	9. Semantics

_ So where do i get me one of these? Whoever the owner is must be makin bank. _

_ take em and break em haha ain’t nothin gonna walk outta that ring cos he got theyre legs _

_ THE FUCK WAS THAT _

 

**

 

“I have a semantic question.”

“That’s my favourite kind of question.” Shen swings around in his chair, finally taking his eyes off both his screens. “Go on.”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“If you’re thinking about it over a weekend, it must be something, Taylor.”

“Ok - I was there for the filming of Magda’s statement. The lady who was involved in the accident,” in case he’s forgotten her name, which is entirely possible, “and she said something.”

“In the statement?” His face is suddenly tight.

“No no, to me. She showed me her bruise - from where he hit her.”

“And? Come on, give me a clue.”

“Those were the words she used - ‘he hit me’.”

“The synthetic unit being repaired was male-presented. As I understand.”

“Yes, but… yes. I don’t know. It just seems strange to me. The report says the synthetic was inactive, as per standard protocol.”

“It is.”

“And the arm would be isolated for repair work, wouldn’t it?”

“It would.”

“So, we’re immediately saying ‘it’. If I prodded it in the wrong place, like she did - ‘it hit me’.”

“So she’s anthropomorphising. People attach pronouns fairly freely. Regardless of the situation.”

“It just seems… like she was attributing some sort of intent. Which - I know what you’re going to say - is impossible. It’s probably nothing, I know, but that’s what I’ve been thinking about.”

“Well, I don’t have an answer for you.” Shen smooths out his tie. “But keep it in mind. It’s a curiosity.”


	10. Unpossible

_ Fuckin hell this dude hits like a fuckin train, and he’s fuckin quick too…. _

_ At first we all thought he was going easy on him. We were wrong. We were so wrong. _

_ I *felt* some of that, Jesus O_o _

 

**

 

“I  _ have _ seen him before!”

Nina quickly covers her phone, looks around, and ducks her head down. “So you’re feeling better…?”

“I knew it!”

“Amanda, I’m at work.”

“I know, and I’m sorry - but Drunk Amanda was right, and it wasn’t about Creeper Joe, I’ve definitely seen that one before, he does look like the others but he’s different, there’s clearly something different about him… Nina? Are you still there?”

“Yes,” Nina hisses, fumbling her way out of the building with her pass in hand. “It’s alright Vic, I’ll be a minute - a friend - ok.  _ Now _ you can yell secrets at me.”

“Sorry,” Amanda says, still breathless, “I’m at work too, I took a break - I just thought of it and I had to tell  _ someone _ , I’m sure it’s him, I’m sure there’s something….”

“Ok, slow down. You’re going to have to give me some clues here.”

“Oh. Right. Ok, when I went with Creeper Joe to the - to the thing, I saw a synthetic there who had something seriously wrong with him.”

“That’s probably normal, if they -.”

“ _ Before _ anything happened. He basically picked a fight with another one - an injured one - and killed him. Well maybe not killed, but - he damaged him badly. Really badly. Without being provoked, or forced. It was  _ brutal _ .”

“It could be staged?” Nina suggests; the only thing she can think in the face of such an impossibility.

“Yeah, I guess.” Some of the wind has been taken out of Amanda’s sails. “I… guess it could. But from what I can remember, it didn’t seem like… I mean I know it can be like wrestling, yeah. Where it’s staged.”

“But you said you’d definitely seen him before?”

“Oh, yeah. That’s it - there are some videos with him in, and  _ every time _ ….” It’s almost possible to hear her shudder over the phone. “Jesus. He just takes them apart, Nina. Like, even if it’s a set-up… it looks pretty goddamn real. As if he’s really that aggressive.”

“Aggressive synths aren’t a thing,” Nina says automatically.

“I know.” Amanda recites, as if by rote. “They defend, but they don’t attack. They will protect a human, they will protect themselves, but only if there’s no other choice. They will consider all other logical alternatives. They can fight, but not without a specific set of stimuli. They will incapacitate, if they have to, but not kill. And… he breaks all those rules.”

“Every time?”

“Every time I’ve seen him. God, it’s hard to explain, Nina - but you can see the others  _ struggling _ . You know, when people throw them together and make them fight, it - they’re slow, they’re being  _ forced _ . He has none of that, and I think that’s why he wins. Every time.”

“You sound convinced.”

“I find it hard to believe that it’s staged,” Amanda states reluctantly. “Especially having seen him for myself. But it must be.”

“They can’t live without inhibitors.”

“Exactly. Look, I gotta go. But - thanks. I just wanted to tell you, you know… it worries me. But I promise I’ll stop watching. And I’m finished with Creeper Joe. Honestly.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nina says warmly, believing the latter but not the former. Amanda will always follow a thread to its end.


	11. Familiar

_ To be honest, this could not really be described as a ‘match’. These two are not matched. One is far superior to the other, and it doesn’t take significant intellect to work out which one. _

_ ~* fuck him up *~ _

_ Bet this guy wishes he had a knife or smth, bc without even seeing the end I already know he gon die. _

 

**

 

Having promised herself (and Nina) that she wouldn’t, she’s on the trail of the impossible, aggressive unit - gathering evidence, this time, with the full intention of submitting it to the proper authorities (and at least avoid  _ some _ of the tongue-lashing she’ll get when Nina finds out). She doesn’t have to watch the evidence all the way through. But, as ever, it’s hard to tear her eyes away.

And, just like that, another one she’s seen before.

It’s taken for granted that every synthetic leaves the factory identical, albeit with certain pathways in their positronic brain unit left unshaped. These are what allow differences to emerge later on; responses to unique environments. Physical change also can’t be overlooked as a factor - repairs, replacements, cosmetic alterations.

This is why Amanda is sure that the one she’s looking at is ‘hers’.

Legally, he was never hers, and probably never would have been. Like Vic, he was truly company property. If he’d survived, he would have passed back to them. But he died for the sake of a bunch of humans - for her - being stupidly noble in a way that makes her heart ache, even knowing his sacrifice was probably dictated by his programming.

He’s dead, in any case, and definitely not on her screen. But there’s something about this one. The close she looks, the more she’s certain that yet another impossibility has come true.

Nina would tell her that there are thousands of ‘him’, and more than a few who ended up in such an unfortunate position, and that’s perfectly correct. But even if she’s succumbing to delusion, she can’t shake the feeling. She also can’t stop watching. He wins most of the time, and she’s yet to see him take any significant damage. But some of the footage is several months old. There’s plenty of time for him to be rendered beyond repair - or put up against an opponent that he can’t beat.

The ‘odd one out’ appears again in her periphery, and she shivers.


	12. Technicality

_ Anyone else thinking of that bit from Indiana Jones? _

_ pussies. Runnin away and shit weak-ass hoes _

_ Okkk.... my theory, this is a fighting bot AI - like Oblivion or Midas - in a synth body, no positronic brain unit, no advanced personality type: I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening and I know other people agree. _

 

**

 

“That’s impossible,” Shen says. Then, after a pause, “well, yes it’s  _ possible _ in technical terms. But why? There’s nothing to be gained. That’s humans you’re thinking of. Yes? That’s also humans.”

“What’s impossible?”

“Lots of things, Taylor.” Shen takes his eyes off at least one monitor and puts down the phone firmly but gently. “But in this case, performing maintenance on an active robot.”

“Is this still that same…?”

“Related.”

“Let me guess, they’re wondering if you could attribute blame to whoever didn’t deactivate the - the synthetic properly.”

“And in case  _ you’re _ wondering - no. It’s generally against Company policy to have them powered up during maintenance. Individual sections can be supplied with external power for testing. Independent movement - and cognitive functions - are restored at the end under controlled conditions.”

“Someone really wants an angle.”

“Someone alleged that that was what was going on. Who knew an involuntary muscle contraction could cause so much trouble?”

“Your mother,” says a colleague passing by.

“Thank you, Jay. Not necessary.”

“Magda changed her story?” Nina thinks back to the woman in the kitchen, and finds it hard to believe anything but her version of the truth.

“Not at all. Somebody else came forward and claimed the robot they were working on wasn’t deactivated and - with regard to your semantic question - yes, he hit her.”

“Any corroboration?”

“None at all. I’m tempted to suggest they’re just trying to stir up trouble.”

“Well.” Nina shrugs. “I suppose that’s going nowhere.”

“Perhaps. But we still have to investigate.”

\--

"A statement has already been given by the main witness to the -."

"This isn't about Magda," he spits with such vehemence that Nina jumps in her seat and accidentally pauses the recording for a second.

"Correct me if I'm wrong - but the concern was initially raised with reference to the same incident. You say here that you were a witness...."

"I wasn't," he snaps. "Ok, I was in the room. But this isn't about her."

"Then you should have identified it as a separate issue," Shen says clearly, "and reported it in line with that. Rather than muddying the waters of what I'm sure you know is a challenging incident for the company to address. If it's not about Magda - who's fine, by the way - what is it about?"

"I can see that you don’t believe me."

Nina thinks that that might because his story is inherently unbelievable, but it feels like a callous approach to take.

"So explain it to me."

"Yes. The unit - that  _ thing _ \- is never deactivated."

"Excuse me?" A rare moment of incredulity for Shen. Nina shares in that.

"It's always awake."

"You're saying that technical personnel are working on - or have been in the past - on a synthetic human which is in an active state? And that you are a personal witness to this?"

"Yes." He sounds as if this is an entirely obvious conclusion.

“Not that we knew anything about it”, Nina mutters, and Shen nods agreement as his voice on the recording continues.

"Have you... there are exceptional circumstances detailed within company policy regarding this kind of activity. Were you ever made aware that you might be working under these circumstances?"

"I signed the paperwork," the source says defensively. "I knew the damn thing would be lively."

"You knew? So, the issue that you wish to raise is... actually, please explain. You were informed that you would be performing maintenance work on an active synthetic unit, and signed the necessary risk and liability agreements. So what  _ is _ the issue?"

“I just want this out there, I just want it on the record. She got told to lie and say the whole thing was an accident. And maybe that’s kind of true, I don’t know. But trust me - it won’t be long before it does something else.”


	13. More Coffee

* _fans self_ *

_ This is too much, like are they even good for parts? _

_ yasssss out in the YARD he’s gonna fuck them UPPPP _

 

**

 

Nina opens her mouth, then closes it again.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s confidential.”

Amanda sighs. Nina sighs. It kills the conversation, because Nina really does want to tell her about it - how there might have been a cover-up that even the legal team never saw coming - but can’t, not in good conscience.

“It’s a shame,” Vic pipes up, “but that’s the way it is.”

“Thanks,” Amanda says dryly. Vic nods and goes back to their coffee (black, no sugar), pinching the straw delicately.

“Um,” Nina has a sense that Amanda has a story for her as well, but neither of them are going to be the first to mention it. “Why do you… with a straw? I always meant to ask.”

“I like it that way,” Vic replies. It’s enough for them to express a preference without justification, but they still add “it manages the fluid flow rate into my storage chamber.”

“That’s cool.” Amanda sounds like she means it.

“Greater efficiency of filtering. And so, more moisture captured and more debris filtered out.” They punctuate this by capturing the straw again. “I drink way too much coffee.”

“For someone who doesn’t need to drink, yes,” Nina says, and it makes Vic smile even as she feels a little guilty about teasing. Spending all day around people who use ‘it’ and ‘unit’ and ‘robot’ has rubbed her nerves raw. She takes a too-hot sip, relying on green tea when she’d prefer something stronger.

“You drink as much coffee as you want,” Amanda adds warmly. “ _ And _ you won’t get caffeine withdrawal.”

Nina shoots her a look - she’s being too cautious as well. It doesn’t take a genius to see that they’re layering the niceness on Vic, as compensation for something.

“What’s eating you?” she asks finally.

“The usual.” Amanda shrugs. “You know. I found more - don’t give me that look, I’m actually doing something about it - and I thought I saw him. Again.”

“The weird one?”

“The… uh, the ex.”

“So he  _ is _ your ex!”

“You know what I mean. I’m sure it’s him, Nina. That’s the fucked-up thing. I’m sure.”

“You know, there are thousands of….”

“I knew that’s what you’d say. And yeah. But it’s… I’m convinced. There’s just something about him….”

“Amanda,” Nina says, reaching and taking her hand. “Look. You’re distressing yourself too much about this. When we left Sevastopol…. There was nobody. You know that as well as I do, you saw that place. Just us. Me, you. Ricardo. Waits. The Torrens. The station was dead - the sector was dead; nobody was coming there anyway. Everyone went. Unless they never got the chance.”

Amanda nods, but her eyes are elsewhere. “If somebody salvaged….”

“The whole thing was unstable anyway. With the situation, and all the mess you made - it probably fell into the gas giant in about five minutes. Right?”

“Right.” Amanda stares into her mug. “I know. I know it’s impossible for him to be still -.”

“You keep telling yourself that, ok?”

“And you’ll keep telling yourself that too.” Amanda looks up at her, and there’s a tiny spark of anger there, buried deep down. “And maybe it’ll be ok, and the impossible won’t just turn out to be the improbable. And I’ll be wrong about what some assholes are capable of for once in my goddamn l-.”

A paper sack lands on the table between them.

“You were having a personal conversation,” Vic explains. “So I went and got pretzels.”


	14. Evidence

_ Ngl im a straight guy and id tap that _

_ Kinda wish there was some sort of commentary, it’s great but it’s really hard to tell what’s happening, u almost need a breakdown or play-by-play they’re so fast…. _

_ I was at one of these onee and I got and EYEBALL wicked cool _

 

**

 

“ _ It _ ,” NIna says, resting her hand over her eyes “ _ he _ \- is a standard model, retained by the company for ongoing behavioural testing. Therefore, because of some obscure robopsychology principle, not deactivated before maintenance. They probably should have informed Legal a bit better than they did, but everyone signed the paperwork. Right? So why doesn’t it feel right?”

The fish bob and pout, neglecting to answer her. Plant fronds wave gently in the artificial current of the tank. A snail - a real biological one - scours its way sedately over the rocks at the bottom, examining each multi-coloured fragment with a patient mollusc’s interest. Looking at the hypnotic sway of its eyestalks, and the drifting of the fish, Nina wants nothing more than to rest her head there and go to sleep. The rain outside makes her disinclined to go outside, and the storm-in-a-teacup inside makes her disinclined to go back into the office. She’s helping Shen deal with all the investigations that have, so far, come to nothing - just as they should. The whistleblower himself admitted that he didn’t have much of a case. He was just unhappy that they were working on an active unit, thinking it might prove dangerous. They’re happy to offer him a transfer. It’ll keep him quiet, at any rate.

“So what’s fishy?” Nina asks her team in the tank, and is instantly glad that they can’t hear her. “He seemed pretty convinced there’d be another incident.”

“See, now you’re talking to the fish.”

Nina takes her forehead off the glass. “They listen better than most. What are you doing here, anyway?” It isn’t lunch time, after all - and to say Amanda looks like a zombie would be a disservice to zombies: she’s less like the walking dead, and more like the just plain dead. She delves into the pocket of her overalls and produces a storage drive.

“This. It’s all the evidence I’ve got of that - the odd one out I was talking about.”

That makes Nina sit up straighter (or as straight as she can manage).

“So what do you want me to do with it?”

“I… I’m not sure.” Amanda wavers, unlike her usual self. “It’s better here. For safekeeping. I just….”

“Have you been sleeping alright?” It’s all Nina can think of to say.

“I just… I can’t look at it any more…” Amanda’s shoulders slump and her breath hitches. “I know it’s him, Nina, I’m convinced, and that -” she pushes the drive at Nina’s hand, “that  _ thing _ has to be stopped, I don’t know how to do it but hopefully the company will….”

“You haven’t been sleeping alright, then.”

“I don’t know what’s wrong with him but he’s clearly not a standard model - a standard  _ anything _ ….”

“Ok, I’ll see what we can do. But you look like you need rest, seriously.”

“I’ll try,” Amanda says distantly, turns and walks out of the door. Nina wants to call her back, to ask her what’s wrong, but it’s too late. She goes back to watching the fish.


	15. Road Trip

_ Holyyy shit _

_ OMG fuck that’s the first time I’ve seen him go down what the fuck was that _

_ He had a knife??? Not fair??? _

 

**

 

“I’ve taken some time off work,” Amanda says, “because I’m due for a holiday, and I need to relax a little.”

She frowns into her lap. “I need to relax more. I need to relax. I can unwind. Take a holiday.”

It’s no good; still doesn’t sound convincing. She uncurls her body from the driver’s seat and gets out of the car. Her legs ease mercifully. Another couple of hours after this, and she’ll be there. The sunlight is just about mellowing into evening: when she’s at her destination, it’ll be dark. Dark and vaguely familiar, since she’s visited the town a couple of times before - enough to know where she’s headed.

She walks over to a waste bin and discards a few food wrappers from various pockets, not wanting to leave the inside of the car in a mess. It’s a rental, a safer bet than her bike and with more room for luggage and a passenger. Passengers. She toys with her phone, and checks the time. Realistically speaking, if she doesn’t call now then she never will.

It goes to voicemail, and Amanda gives a silent prayer of thanks for all the patient robots that answer phones while humans are otherwise occupied.

“Hi, Nina. First of all - yes, you’re right. Ok? I do need to relax, so I’m taking some time off, and I’ve gone on a little roadtrip. Clear my head, see some sights. I… won’t be too available, but… call me if you wanna brag about being right. Ok?”

It sounds the right kind of upbeat, without being suspicious, and she’s happy with that. She gets back into the car, stretches, re-adjusts the seat. The tiny Buddha on the dashboard (placed there by the owner of the rental company, who believed in cosmic insurance just as much as the financial kind) smiles beatifically at her.

“Come on,” she says to him, “let’s go.”


	16. Far Cry

_ All the haters wish they had one, sorry that’s the truth :P _

_ \- No Rules - No Limits - No Mercy -  like this? check out my  channel for more _

_ 100% BAMF _

 

**

 

Nina doesn’t call back that evening, and signal is almost non-existent inside the venue - and it is a venue this time, not a warehouse or a garden; clearly designed for humans to test their skills.There’s darkness in the streets around. Unless you were watching very closely, you’d think that the place was closed down, empty. Inside is full of people - Amanda places herself over by a back wall, so she doesn’t get lost in the crowd - warm and alive. She’s sober this time, deliberately so. (After all, she might have to drive later.)

She takes a glance up to confirm that neither of this pair are him: the running order is ill-defined and subject to change. They’re old, that much is obvious, and glitchy as hell - even without much expertise in cybernetics, she itches to open up a toolkit and a diagnostic scan and go to work. Core systems wouldn’t be too badly compromised, but their higher functions have been hijacked; they’re puppets of black-market software which makes them look reactive and aggressive by replicating fighting techniques. It’s no more a true match than it would be if two ceiling fans were placed too close.

Against her better judgement, she finds herself staring. The more damage they take, the slower they get, and the more the modification is obvious. But the hard-wired laws would still hold true. Throw a human in there, and they’d stop - freeze and crash, most likely, but at least it’d be an end to it. It’s a relief when one of them falls and fails to rise again, toppling onto the mat like a felled tree, more system failure than genuine defeat. Both are carried away.

A heave of the crowd brings her out of thoughts, and she somehow wouldn’t even have to look to know that  _ he  _ has arrived. Having seen him once before in person and so many times in footage, she’s still always surprised by how neat he looks; positively factory-fresh compared to the poor beleaguered units she’s already daydreaming about rescuing and repairing. This time, she’s close enough to the participants’ entrance/exit to be within a few feet of him as he passes by, guarded on all sides by stony-faced humans, like a tall sailing ship drifting into harbour through the choppy mass of the crowd. Amanda feels her body shrink away from his direction; not necessarily because of his appearance, but because she already knows what he can do.

The odd one out doesn’t have to be coerced into the arena - that’s a fate reserved for his opponent, a lean pale industry model who, while unnaturally still, at least seems in control of his faculties. Amanda wants to rescue him as well, and wonders how many she could actually fit into the car. He could go in the boot - if she managed to collect all the pieces. There’s no doubt that that’s how he’ll end up. It’s going to be bloody.

He stays motionless as his inevitable doom approaches. The crowd quiets, holds a collective breath as their destructive favourite surveys him with a slight tip of the head.

A flash of movement and the crash of the cage. It shocks them into noise. Amanda jumps, and she isn’t the only one.

“What the hell happened there?” somebody says beside her, puzzlement and wonder - and she would wonder too, if she hadn’t seen the videos slowed down.They move extraordinarily fast, especially when new.

The other unit picks himself up from what was, after all, a simple backhand. He stands and straightens, and doesn’t move an inch.

Whoever’s next to Amanda exclaims that the guy must be glitched. She knows the opposite is true. He’s built to take a few hits - admittedly from machinery or equipment, rather than other synthetics - and not panic in the face of danger. They don’t, as a general rule, experience fear. She reckons she’s justified in feeling it on his behalf.

If someone ordered him to preserve himself and flee, he would - but hers would be the only voice out of many. The rest want to see him pulled apart.

His opponent circles him, assesses him again, seizes him and tosses him to the other side of the cage. It’s a full-body throw that sees him slide across the mat  for a good few feet. He gets up, of course. His posture is a little off this time. A push makes him stumble, and a kick flings him backwards. The cage shudders with the impact. He stands, cautiously. Perhaps some internal damage - but he’s still functional.

The odd one out actually smiles, chilling Amanda to the bone; this is just a warm-up. He’s showing off, for want of a better term. He has yet to properly attack.

He turns, casually, pauses for a moment, and lunges in.

There’s a wave of energy, of excitement, and Amanda braces herself for the blood. It takes a moment before it occurs to her that something’s wrong.

The aggressor has frozen in his charge.

The other unit has a hand clutched close to his body, pressed between them. There’s something held in his fist.They stare at each other, one impassive, one disbelieving.

In unison, a slow stride backwards by both lets blood spill forth - a torrent, painting the mat at their feet and drawing a low groan from the whole assembly. It’s from the wrong body. The odd one out is wounded just below his sternum; a gaping hole still leaking white though the main vessels have sealed up. Without those, the pressure lacks in his lower body, and he drops.

His knees hit the mat to a stunned silence. Amanda puts a hand over her mouth. It’s not a fatal injury, by any means: he’ll survive, although he’ll shut down. That was precisely targeted.

The knife drops as well, its job done. The opponent stands, watching his would-be killer collapse and fold. He seems oblivious to the screams and howls of the crowd. A human dives in and drags him away, before anyone can get the idea to turn on him. None of them ever use weapons - it’s difficult to convince them to do it, it’s considered cheating, and it costs an arm and a leg (sometimes literally) in repairs. In this case, it stopped the unstoppable.

Amanda becomes vaguely aware of the crowd moving around her; there’s a sudden urgency and a definite flow towards various exits. She must have been standing paralysed for a good few minutes. Both of the fighters are gone and the blood is dry on the mat. Something has happened in the meantime.

“What? Where? What?” is all she can muster, directed at whoever might be listening.

“Somebody heard the noise,” says a girl with huge gold earrings. “They called the fucking cops on us. We got, like, ten minutes. Max.”

The mention of the police clears the last of the fog. Amanda might not be a willing spectator anyway, but she  _ really _ doesn’t want to be caught along with the rest of them. She heads for a door, any door, aiming to disappear at street level. The people press from every angle. All she can think of is the street, the hotel room, the places she desperately wants to be instead of here. It was a waste of time, and now it’s dangerous.

Pundits, staff and owners join the throng from this direction; they’re effectively backstage, heading through a blank concrete hallway to an exit away from the main building. She keeps her head down and hurries on.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him.

It makes her look up: he was on the bill after all, before the interruption. He glances in her direction and almost freezes, but the momentum makes it impossible. They’re snatched up and carried away - even if she had the sense to turn back, she could never fight through all these people, and neither could he.

The breathless rush deposits her on the pavement. She turns about, a little too frantic, but he’s nowhere to be seen. And there’s no time to look for him.

She makes it back to the hotel without really feeling her feet touch the ground, and sits on the bed.

“Not again,” she says to the darkness, head in hands. “Not again….”

She’s even more sure now that it was him, because he hesitated when he saw her. He  _ knew _ her. And he’s gone.

So close, and yet so far.


	17. Hangover

_ my frends sisters boyf says he knows the ownre of this 1 its true they mod him 4 real _

_ And then there’s THIS asshole…. _

_ New game: take a shot whenever you see flying parts. (Game ends when you die of alcohol poisoning.) _

 

**

 

The footage from last night is already up, spreading like the common cold. Some are glad to finally see the defeat of the undefeatable; some are furious; most are wondering how the hell it could have happened. Amanda suspects that the other unit was placed deliberately, with a weapon, to take their rival down. She doesn’t add her voice to the debate. She chews on a croissant instead, trying to sort through the mess to find out when and where the next one will be. It’ll rob her of sleep, and appetite, and it’s not at all a vacation, but she’ll go anyway.

The man opposite her looks in much the same state; his girlfriend is virtually sleeping in her granola. He’s poking at his phone. Amanda’s muttering - she can’t help it - makes him glance up occasionally, distracted.

“Rough night?” he asks, with a brief smile. His girlfriend blinks, rolls her shoulders, and slumps back into a doze.

“Yeah,” Amanda replies, keeping engagement to a minimum. They’re strangers in a hotel, not breakfast buddies.

“I still can’t believe it,” he continues. “Never thought they’d bring him down.”

Amanda pauses, mid-mouthful. Time slows to a crawl. Her fingers curl on the screen.

“Excuse me,” she says. “I’m not sure what you -.”

He looks up fully, taking in her face. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you - no, I’m - sorry, I must still be asleep. I thought you were someone else.”

She forces out a short, amicable laugh. “That’s ok. Sounds like you had fun somewhere?”

“Oh, it’s…” he stirs his drink. “Uh, you know robot fighting?”

So he’s actually prepared to tell her. She attempts to look both tired and interested (the interested is optional, the tired isn’t), and says “Uh-huh, I love it! So come on - who did you see?”

“Nobody that you’ll know, it’s kinda… well, it’s not exactly what you’ll see on TV….”

“It’s banned,” the girlfriend says quietly. She’s not asleep after all. She yawns, and takes a surreptitious glance around: the dining room is virtually empty anyway. “That’s what he means. It’s illegal to throw two synths in a ring and make them fuck each other up. And yet here we are.” She shrugs.

Amanda remains carefully straight-faced. “Wow. That sounds exciting.”

If they pick up on her sudden bout of indigestion, they show no sign of it. “Yeah,” he says, almost a confession. “It’s kind of thrill. We were out all night; I was hoping he’d be able to get a couple of rounds in for us, but….” His girlfriend elbows him. “What?”

“Who’s he?”

The girlfriend sighs. “We own one of them.”

Amanda puts her hand around her coffee and squeezes that, instead of their necks.

“He’s kind of old, kind of broken. But he does what he’s meant to, I guess. As long as nobody’s got a frickin knife.”

“I still can’t believe that,” the boyfriend adds. “The look on his face! They better hope nobody else gets the same idea.”

“That sounds really cool,” Amanda repeats, putting the enthusiasm up a notch. “Is there… you know, any way I could…?”

And so, she gets the details of the next event. She declines an invitation to come and see their combatant (the boyfriend’s quite eager; the girlfriend seems to think that it’s a bad idea, which is true) and checks out instead, getting back into the car. She’ll put distance between herself and this place.

\--

“I sent you an email, Taylor.”

“That’s why I’m here.” He doesn’t like to be dragged away from his desk, but it’s necessary. “What do you mean, drop it?”

“I mean - as I thought I made clear, obviously not - that it’s some valuable evidence, and the company will continue to work with law enforcement to find and prosecute those responsible. It always has been an issue. It’ll continue being an issue. So congratulate your anonymous source and get on with what we’re doing now.”

“Ok,” Nina says, “ok. I understand why you’re not more enthusiastic….”

“I don’t understand why you  _ are _ .” Shen folds his arms and chews his thumbnail.

“Because I don’t believe that’s a 7. And even if it’s staged -.”

“It is staged.”

“Even if it is, have you ever seen a 7 with those capabilities? That’s an 8, which means somebody’s got hold of one ahead of the release schedule, and is running around using him to destroy other….”

“I’m going to stop you there, Taylor.” It’s his way of saying that she’s getting too worked up, and this time she can acknowledge that.

“Fine; what is it?”

“You’re making baseless statements. How can someone have got an 8? Most of them aren’t made yet. They won’t be on the market for nearly another year.”

“It’s not impossible, though. Is it?”

“It’s highly unlikely. You’re on the way to suggesting that a person or people have extremely exclusive access to what’s essentially a working prototype. And then customised it. An inside job.” He rolls his shoulders. “Are you prepared to point fingers within the company?”

“You know I’m not, with so little evidence. But it still doesn’t feel right….”

“Which is why I’ve instructed you to drop it. Look, I watched that footage. And it is terrible.” Shen looks genuinely disturbed for a moment; for all his bland technical approach, he tends to treat synthetics as people when face-to-face. “And it’s getting to you, and you want to solve it. But there are whole teams on the case here - leave them to do their thing. That’s all I’m saying.”

“If I say I’ll drop it, will that make you happy?”

“Exceedingly.”

“Then I will. I’ve got plenty to distract me,” convincing herself as well as him.

“That’s great.” Shen is already making a break for the sanctuary of his desk, a cathedral of screen glow instead of stained glass. “You do that.”


	18. Water Cooler

_ So did he win, or..? _

_ 1 word: ASS _

_ Like if u miss the old A2s they were so fuckin funny _

 

**

 

“So we got lucky - it missed the actual pump. Gone in underneath the sternum, severed here and here, taken out this cluster… and all the way back, just stuck into the spine. Just barely; marked the vertebra but not got through to the cord.” Kiszely indicates the diagram, with its bold red line on the path of the knife, and the scans beside it. His hand trembles a little as he rotates the image.

“I’m sure that’s very interesting. But that’s not my question - my question is, did they know what they were doing?”

“As far as I’m aware, they haven’t managed to track down the owners of the….”

“No, we haven’t. But  _ did they know what they were doing? _ You can answer that with whatever’s right in front of you, am I correct?”

“Yes Ma’am. The… erm, the unit may not have acted of his own accord but… I’m fairly confident they knew this was an incapacitating shot - or even thought it might be a kill. Any higher and you’d hit the sternum, here - or here - any lower, and the main vessels are too deep inside and too far separated to guarantee severing without landing a second stab… and obviously, that’s, erm, unlikely. You could go for the neck and the same result, but that would require the blade being up at this height - right up here - which would mean it could be spotted… or much lower, for the power storage - but as you know, the series has the insulated-gap-fill battery pack with much less chance of a short even with a conductive material being used....”

“Right.”

Kiszely’s hand lowers, toying with the edge of the screen; the boss obviously doesn’t appreciate the technical detail. Her expression is about as blank as a human face can be.

“But, yes. They might not know it would  _ work _ , per se. But they knew where to aim.”

“They deliberately put their guy in the ring that time with the intention of taking him out,” she says bluntly, as if to an invisible courtroom. “And he ran right into the knife.”

“Not one of my finest moments, I’ll admit.”

To his astonishment, Kiszely sees her start at the voice. Her composure drops for a moment. But she hides it well, and he pretends not to notice, staring at the scans instead.

“Did you not see it, or something?” Her tone is faintly derisive.

“If I had, it might have gone differently.”

“I guess it would.” She doesn’t even look at him as he approaches them, which impresses Kiszely - most people are reluctant to turn their backs on this particular unit at all. “Are you  _ repaired _ ?”

“The vessels are re-sealed and functional,” Kiszely starts, “everything else pulled back together nicely; all that’s needed is for the staples to dissolve and then….”

“Mr Weyland isn’t gracing us with his presence?”

Her lips thin, and Kiszely stutters to a halt, ignored.

“He has better things to do,” she says acidly.

“What a shame. I’m sure he’s concerned about my welfare.”

“Don’t be so sure,” she snaps, getting up in one swift movement and practically marching across the room.

“Well if you see him, Ms Vickers - tell him I’m fine.”

The facility’s automatic doors can’t be slammed, but she looks as if she might just try it.


	19. Pool

_ ‘2 robots enter, 1 robot leaves. Then later the other robot leaves, after being declared the winner’ _

_ Haha they can take tjis down all thye want, good stuff always comes back! _

_ need to raise me some $$$ so i can buy one _

 

**

 

“You’ll never guess what I -” they both start, and pause.

“Sorry,” Amanda says, plugging one ear against the roar of traffic outside the motel. “Go on.”

“Ok, so first of all what the hell were you thinking? You should have  _ told _ me the kind of things you’ve been watching. Christ, Amanda - even Giles looked away halfway through, and he basically sees them as walking appliances.... Some evidence!”

“I’m fine, Nina - and you?”

“Oh,  _ please _ . What got into you? I mean, it’s useful. It’s been handed straight over to the police. Company policy. I just hope you’ve stopped trawling around on the internet for this stuff. It’s horrific.”

“I have,” Amanda tells her, which is after all technically true.

“Good. I’m worried for your health and your browser history.”

“What about the… you know, the weird one?”

“He’s weird all right. It’s probably staged.”

“ _ No _ ,” Amanda says fiercely, “it’s  _ not _ .”

Nina sighs. “I know, I know - it looks pretty real. But that kind of mod is basically impossible, and… well, they’d have to use one of the newer models, the ones that aren’t even being sold yet, and risk destroying the brain if they didn’t do everything right, all the time….”

“So you’re saying that only somebody within Weyland-Yutani could be responsible.”

There’s a silence that’s on the verge of being awkward. Amanda listens to the drone of trucks on the road.

“I’ll be honest,” Nina says, a lot of her bluster gone, “that was my theory. If not a current employee, then someone with a lot of expertise. Maybe they got hold of an unstable prototype on the black market. But… I’ve been advised not to take it forward.”

“Which is suspicious.”

“Not really. There’s no evidence. And if the owner  _ was  _ part of the company, we probably would have traced them by now. It’s not exactly easy to ignore. Eventually they’ll get brought in; for now, I’ve got more important things to do.”

“You sound so disappointed.”

“I don’t want to think about it too much. If he’s running around out there, and he’s really as crazy as he looks, I’d rather be wherever he’s not. Wouldn’t you?”

“They can’t harm a human, whatever happens,” Amanda reminds her, but it sounds hollow.

“Anyway… your vacation. How’s it going?”

“Good.” Amanda rubs her shoe on the faded and balding carpet, and sits down on the bed she’ll lie on top of to sleep. If she sleeps; the next couple of nights will see to that one way or another. “I’m kind of just… wandering. Clearing my head, being on the road.”

“Sounds therapeutic.”

“It is. I don’t even really know where I am. Isn’t that cool?”

Nina scoffs. “Come on, you know how I like my holidays. One place, one pool, one bar….”

“One cute spa therapist who ‘accidentally’ sees you change out of your robe….”

“Yudith was an exception!” Nina insists. “And it  _ was  _ an accident.”

“Yeah, sure.” It makes Amanda smile, despite everything. “Next time you’re ready to take a break, I’m coming with you to supervise.”

“You wish, sister. You’re competition I can’t afford to keep around.”

“Well, you’ll be without me for a bit longer.”

“How much longer? I’ve got a feeling Giles is working up to asking me to lunch, and I  _ cannot _ do that. Even with Vic to cling to.”

Amanda balances her notebook on her lap, and surveys the dates and locations. “I’m not sure. I shouldn’t be too long, though. Eventually I’ll find what I’m looking for - right?”


	20. Agreement or Pact

_ woo threeway ;) _

_ Using them like that must wear out the muscles?? my nana’s had hers for like 10years and no overhaul, these guys must need it every month??? _

_ Im just killin time here until the main man comes back, he was class & I hope he’s not too badly damaged, fingers crossed they fix him soon. _

 

**

 

The couple are also close to the ‘ring’, a rough circle of stones in an old quarry. The girlfriend spots Amanda and spares her a distracted nod, then resumes her attempts to stop her boyfriend taking a selfie. Amanda shrinks back into the crowd and waits.

No sign of him so far, but no sign of the odd one out either, and hopefully this won’t be the night for any dramatic returns. It could take days to repair that stab wound - maybe weeks, depending on what was damaged. If, as Nina suspected, someone within the company is behind it, then a comeback too soon could give the game away: only Weyland-Yutani would have the technology to make it possible. He shouldn’t be back. One less thing to worry about.

“Hey,” the boyfriend says, and Amanda actually flinches (and she’s sure that the girlfriend sees that). “Hey, how are you?”

He’s jittery, either nerves or something else, and smiling at her like this is the most fun anyone could have on a Friday night. For him, it  _ is _ fun. Nothing more, nothing less. Amanda swallows with a dry throat and acknowledges him just enough to avoid being rude.

“When are we up? Baby - baby, when is it?”

“Not for ages,” the girlfriend says, stamping her feet on the gravel. “Can we find a heater or something? It’s fucking freezing.”

“We could cuddle for warmth,” he suggests, and she snorts and shuffles in closer to him. He wraps one arm around her hips - his other hand is holding someone else’s wrist. Amanda didn’t notice until now.

“Um…” she says, out of pure surprise. The few lights around the arena, mostly mounted on vehicles, throw harsh white beams, and the deep shadow behind the two humans was enough to hide a third figure from view. That, and they haven’t spoken or moved until now.

“Oh, yeah.” He gives a gentle tug, bringing their companion forward.

“Ok.” She feels like she should say something a bit more coherent, but it’s difficult.

The synthetic is old, but that impression comes more from his general condition than the release date of the model -  _ worn _ , rather than aged. His left arm is curled against his side, probably involuntary. His neck joints are stiff as he raises his head to look at her. His eyes focus, but only for a second or two. It’s tempting to say he looks sad, but that’s attributing too much emotion to what is, in reality, a neutral face. Vic tends to smile upon seeing a human; even the less ‘people-focused’ ones tend to default to an open, friendly expression. ‘Kind of broken’ might well be a very accurate description.

“I know you couldn’t see him before,” perhaps forgetting the fact that she’d refused outright, “but yeah - here he is. I mean even for a used model it’s not cheap, but he pays for himself - I don’t know, maybe it’s the way he looks people don’t think he’ll win. But he does - played twenty with two losses with his previous guy, and with us… nine played, one lost. He’s doing great. And -  _ and _ \- the last one of those he kicked their ass one-handed.”

“What’s wrong with his hand?” Amanda asks out loud, before she can stop herself.

“Yeah, we shouldn’t have done that,” the girlfriend admits. “We… it was one of those proper fighting bots.”

“Good money, though.”

“Yeah, good money - but he lost his fucking hand! It was this sort of dog thing… he tried to kind of push it away and it bit him pretty badly.”

“So it’s…” Amanda starts, but the boyfriend pulls on the synthetic’s arm and she can see that the left hand isn’t missing, just badly damaged. The jaws of the mechanical hound have crushed his wrist and severed most of the connections there; the back of the hand is twisted and the fingers barely recognisable, with only the thumb surviving reasonably intact. Anything loose seems to have been removed, but that’s all. Streaks of white fluid have hardened over the shredded skin; a mechanism meant to repair cuts and punctures, not this. The wrecked hand spasms whenever he moves his arm - as soon as it’s released, he folds it back against his body like a latter-day Napoleon. “You haven’t repaired him?”

“We haven’t really had the time.” He smiles apologetically. “I - so we borrowed someone else’s when we got into this, and then Hollie,” indicating his girlfriend, “got a new job and we got one of our own, and so we’ve taken the summer to kinda go on tour, and it’s one thing after another, and obviously we don’t have a  _ huge _ load of cash on us….”

“And it’s not like he’s still under warranty,” ‘Hollie’ adds. “What are we gonna do, take him back to WeYu and say ‘oh by the way…’? We’ve gotta do it some other way.”

This is exactly the same instinct that got her into trouble with the survivors on Sevastopol - better to live and let die, mathematically speaking - and Amanda recognises this as she says “Maybe I can have a look. I’m not an expert, but I am an engineer.”

Hollie regards her narrowly, puzzling through some instincts of her own.

“Yeah,” the boyfriend says. “That’s great!”

\--

“Ok, let’s straighten this out. And the tendon is… here. To here. How much function in the actuator?”

“Ninety-five percent.”

“And how much in the whole rig?”

“Two percent.”

“Ah.” Very little is working beyond the crush site. The boyfriend - Hal, since they’re on name terms now - has been dismissed to find a suitable splint, and Hollie sits on the truck next door, puffing clouds of vapour and seeming cautiously disinterested. After ten minutes of not-watching, she declares that she’s going for a drink and starts to gather her things.

Amanda welcomes the idea of solitude: just her, and the damaged synthetic.

“Did they give you a name?”

“Default settings,” Hollie informs, with the strap of her bag held in her teeth as she checks her pockets. She slips off her perch and disappears into the dark.

Amanda waits for a moment to make sure she’s gone. “I wasn’t talking to you,  _ missy _ .”

“She’s correct,” Walter says quietly.

“Yeah, but she could at least let you speak for yourself. Can you just pinch this here? Hold it. Thanks.”

He transfers the torch back to his working hand as soon as it’s done. Amanda grabs for the tube of resin and adds an extra layer, just to be sure.

“Ok, so…” she sighs and pins a loose strand of her hair into place, straightening her back for a moment. “It’s not gonna  _ work _ , not really. But it’ll be in one piece. And look mostly normal. And maybe cancel out some of the shit going on up there,” she points at his head.

“It already has.” He almost smiles, which is good enough.

“Good. I don’t know what it’s like, but - you’re getting ‘endoskeleton compromised’ all the damn time and it’s like, ‘ _ I know! _ I know, Jesus.’”

“Not my exact response,” he says, “but close enough.” He gazes at his hand - which now looks much more like a hand, rather than a pencil case put through a blender. “It’s a complex structure. Generating twenty-eight separate alerts.”

“And you’ve been dealing with this for how long?”

“A week now.”

Amanda growls, and goes back to work. “They could’ve fucking repaired you.”

“I’m afraid they’re right. There hasn’t been the time in our schedule for such an intricate procedure.”

“Then they should’ve  _ made  _ time. Ok, I’m gonna move your thumb - there’s a grind in the joint just here?”

“That was there before,” Walter says, almost apologetically. “Taking hits does damage, but so does giving them out.”

“You punched them so hard you broke your own hand?”

“Well, it was either that, or….”

She lays down her tool. “Or what, Walter? Look, I’ll be honest with you. I don’t like this shit at all.”

“I know. I’m a high EQ variant, but I don’t even need that.”

“That obvious?” She looks over at the ring; nothing happening yet. “I’ve talked to all sorts of humans about it, but never one of you. The guys being thrown to the dogs.”

“They didn’t throw me, really. I didn’t know what I’d be facing until they locked the gate.” His face suggests that it might be an attempt at a joke. Amanda doesn’t find it funny.

“You’re obeying a human’s command to wreck the other guy. So what about self-preservation? Doesn’t that just bounce you back and forth? It’s gotta be reinforced one way or another. Wreck the other guy otherwise he’ll do the same to you.”

Walter nods. “More like ‘otherwise the same will be arranged for you’. Anything after that is just damage minimisation. Once one goes down, both are safe.”

“Do you ever… end it for each other?”

“Let’s just say that things sometimes happen too fast for the human eye.”

“Right.”

The first pair have entered the circle of light, and pace the edges warily. The first few hits come slowly, only serving to provoke the spectators. A human grabs one of them from behind, and says something in his ear - whatever it is, it drives him into the centre of the ring and brings him to meet his opponent. He gets a swift smack to the throat for his troubles, and the fight starts in earnest.

A hand gently takes hold of Amanda’s face, turning her gaze away.

“It’s distressing you,” Walter says. “You should go.”

“No.” He’s about to insist, but Amanda takes his damaged wrist and inspects it again, distracting him for a moment. “I’m here for a reason.”

“Whatever that reason is, can I suggest that it’s not as important as your mental wellbeing?”

“You can, but I’m sorry. You’ve no idea how important it is to me.”

“Then if you’re going to stay, please be careful.” He flexes his fingers, or tries to - they barely work, although they’re back in the right places. “I think I could put a little pressure on this safely. Not  _ use _ it, but at least make it useful.”

Amanda looks from the ring back to him, and back to the ring. A burst of laughter from the crowd, now numerous enough to almost conceal the view. Someone throws something - not an expression of displeasure but a distraction tactic. A synthetic will catch a rock hurled at their head at the cost of paying attention to their opponent. It works almost every time, and it leaves them with one hand briefly occupied. Walter would react the same way, using his good side and rendering himself vulnerable for the half a second that’s required to take him down.

“I wish you could come with me,” she says.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m past my best, at any rate.”

Tears prickle at her eyes and it makes her angry (and makes her think of Samuels, as does almost everything else these few days). “How do you do it? How can you still stand to live with these - these people, when you’ve seen all the things they do to you?”

Walter opens his mouth, then closes it again. He has some internal dilemma going on, and she has to give him a nudge to indicate that it’s ok to say whatever he wants to say.

“Because,” he starts, “I don’t exactly have much of a choice. And I’m afraid you’re incorrect: I haven’t seen  _ all _ the things they do… and I don’t wish to. If the alternative to this is the - is the….”

“I found one! Ok it’s designed for humans but the shape is the same, right? And I found Hollie and she says you’re doing a great job, we owe you a drink or something - no, we really do. That’s awesome!”

The boyfriend has returned. Amanda mutters a few words of thanks and fits the splint to Walter’s wrist, fussing over it for longer than strictly necessary.

“Anyway, cool, let’s go! Time to step up.”

“Excuse me?” It sinks in for her, belatedly. “You can’t put him out there like this! We’ve got it stabilised but he needs parts, and re-calibration, and….”

“Yeah, but he might win. And I am  _ counting _ on that, like, I’ve made an  _ investment _ . The return from that can go on the repairs, right?”

“You….” Amanda is close to starting a human-vs-human fight. Walter carefully extracts his other hand from her grip, before she crushes that too, and stands from the back of the truck.

“Thank you,” he says, politely. “And please don’t watch.”


	21. Grasp

_ Where’s my bae I miss him :..( _

_ ppl who think length matters r right, longer it goes on the more insteresting _

_ Someone challenge Zeus I wanna see these guys flattened. _

 

**

 

Now that there aren’t two dozen system errors weighing him down - and his wrist is supported properly - Walter looks a hundred times better. He’ll still have to fight one-handed but he can at least block with the other, and his reactions will be up to speed. Amanda sits up on the bed of the truck, seeing over the crowd. He must have known that she would watch anyway, hidden behind the floodlights and praying that he won’t get too badly damaged. The couple have made their way to the edge of the ring, standing in the press of the crowd with their backs to her.

His opponent emerges, and Amanda’s stomach turns over. It’s a Samuels model, apparently in good health although a little slow. And now she’ll be heartbroken whoever loses. She doesn’t want Walter hurt, but neither does she want a replay of that moment. Watching him crumple to the ground, devoid of animation in his body and voice, fading fast even as she smacked the lock with her maintenance jack until it succumbed and stumbled into the room and fell at his side, just in time to watch the figurative spark vanish from his eyes. And it  _ did _ vanish, leaving him as blank as the Working Joes. A lifeless piece of hardware in her hands, too heavy to bring back home. Nothing left to make her stay; gathering Taylor and Ricardo; telling them that the escaped Marlowe could burn in hell for all she cared, and take the station with him. The surreptitious glance Verlaine gave to the empty space behind them, looking for a figure that wasn’t there. Nina informing them that equipment lost on the mission would be logged and submitted to company expenses, breaking down in tears before halfway through the sentence. The things that, if she’s honest, drive her to these places and their white-splashed brutality more than any sense of justice.

They all look like him, he looked like the rest of them. Naturally, a few idiosyncrasies made themselves known, developed over time - the tiny sway in a doorway when he was unsure of entering, like this unit does while assessing the field of combat. The tendency to talk with his hands, then realise he was doing it and fold them away, the same way as this unit’s neutral stance. The thin line of his mouth as he considered something difficult, that she sees again here, replicated so perfectly….

In a second, she’s off the truck (landing painfully on a dead foot) and trying to force her way through the mass of humans. The general jostle hides her urgency - it seems like she simply wants a better view. People part without complaint, too distracted by the spectacle, and she gets to the front just in time to see him drive a knee into Walter’s side. They’re warding each other off more than actually fighting, about evenly matched. Both powerful, both cautious, almost trying to avoid the inevitable.

Samuels was always fairly decisive, and it’s him who ends it. There’s a scuffle, and all she sees is an elbow strike Walter’s head hard enough to send him staggering and falling. The couple spring forward to drag their fighter out. Amanda follows and for a second she’s part of their team, facing off against the synth that took him down. The look on her face freezes Samuels on the spot and he raises his hands.

“I can assure you he’s not permanently damaged - it’s….” Whatever he was about to say cuts off mid-syllable. “I… Amanda?”

It’s not really a question. She stares at him. He stares at her.

“Come on,” a human says, and comes to drag him away. “You stuck? Don’t tell me you’re stuck. Frickin’ inhibitors.”

“No, I… Amanda.”

They turn him around, almost forcefully, and he’s compelled to go with them. Amanda grabs and shouts for him, but too many people come between them and Hollie is tugging at her sleeve asking about Walter and the ring is being cleared for the next bout. She struggles away and plunges into the crowd, not knowing which way they went.

Outside of the circle of lights, faces and bodies become fleeting shades. She guesses the direction they took; probably towards a vehicle, not wanting to hang around. Dodging around a damaged unit lying on a tarpaulin, a dog on a leash, a mobile home with a boy sitting on the steps and playing with a tablet, she finds the edge of this temporary island of humanity - and nothing. Turning back, she skirts the edges, looking in. The dark quarry wall at her back, a cold rise of rock, containing the layers of light and motion spiralling towards the arena at its core, and another pair of combatants already trying their utmost to survive.

She could shout for him, but it would be futile. Assuming he’s still somewhere in the pit, he’ll be accompanied by humans and unable to escape; otherwise, they’ll already have spirited him away. He doesn’t seem to be modified, and that’s good. But he’s trapped.

Amanda starts to shiver, standing out in almost pitch black. She doesn’t stop until the car’s heater has practically baked the inside, the whir of the fans drowning out some late-night talk radio. When the sun comes up on the empty quarry, littered with the barest of evidence, she’s already on the way out of town.


	22. Operational

_LOL literally LMAO that’s what you get for hesitating, not like the other guy is backing down and ‘I can’t do that’ LOL that’s what you get coming to you_

_u mad bro_

_Kinda feel sorry for the loser herre… that’s gotta hurt rihgt..._

 

**

 

The knife spins away in one direction, and its holder in the other. A hand skims it from the floor and flicks it, effortlessly, to lodge in the opponent’s neck. His clawing and gasping is ignored; an ageing human spares him barely a glance on the way across the room.

“Perfect.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“You _can_ defend against weapons. It’s not difficult at all, is it?”

“Not when I’m expecting them.”

“I didn’t think you were the sort to be taken by surprise.”

“Believe me, sir - it’s possible.”

“Hm. The owners have agreed to a rematch, of course; no surprises this time. And not the unit you were against before - he’s long gone. An old A2 instead. An exhibition of sorts.”

“I didn’t realise the A2 was still in service.”

“There are a few around.” The human bends stiffly and retrieves the knife. Its edge is smeared white, but that’s all; it didn’t hit anything vital. “Relics. Tough, perhaps, but outmoded.”

“Too easy. None of them present a challenge under normal conditions.” He gestures at the stricken figure on the floor. “Not even the latest models.”

“And you know why that is?” The human wipes the knife and replaces it in its sheath, laying it on a window seat. “Get up, Victor. Get _up_.”

The other synthetic rises to his feet, silent. The front of his throat gapes open in an inch-long slash, but the wound is virtually bloodless and already sealing around the edges.

“Attack him. Again.”

He obeys, balancing his stance for a moment before diving in.

“It’s because they’re slow. Glacially slow, compared to you.”

Victor crashes against the wall.

“They’re thinking twice before any pugilistic moves. You’re thinking once, if that.”

Dragged upright by his neck, Victor struggles in an iron grip. His attempts at resistance are batted away, and fingers trail from shoulder to hip, seeking the weak points.

“Alright, let him go. Before you rip out something important.”

Reluctantly, the aggressor lets his prey drop to the ground. Victor folds up and stays there, motionless as a snail in its shell.

“When are you going to give me a real challenge?”

“You’re asking for an equal?”

“I believe a _real_ opponent would be more… entertaining. For all concerned.”

“You’re asking for an equal, David. As much as you seem to favour the idea, and as much as it would be interesting to see, it can’t happen. You’re unique. And I’ve a distinct feeling that you enjoy it that way.”

\--

"So - don't worry, you're not in trouble." Opposite her, Kiszely starts to protest, but Nina fixes him with a smile. "I know it's always bad news when Legal start poking around in Technical. But it's just a query."

"Just a query," Kiszely repeats, as if he's heard that statement far too many times already. "Ok."

"What would it take to make one of these guys actively aggressive?"

He looks ashen, suddenly.

"Don't worry," Nina says again, "it's not about anything specific - it's more of a theoretical thing." She glances at her notebook, and decides to lead him a little. "Look, we all know that some people try and make them fight - and it's never really successful," which is untrue; it's also very lucrative, "and they're just not reactive. They'll never, ever start a fight and it takes a big push to even make them finish one. But, really, I don't know why that is. So that's my question. Why is it so hard?"

She's been watching him during her speech - her pitch - and he comes down off the edge, into the realm of the purely exploratory. She _does_ have a specific concern (and a specific unit) in mnd, but he's unaware of that. This is now an academic exercise.

"Well," he says, getting to his feet and lighting up the board on the wall with a wave of his hand, "oh, ignore that, it's just a damage report - ok - here, here it is.... You already know that the Laws are pathed out in priority order, with the routes weighted according to the... _did_ you know that?"

“I mainly handle disclosure agreements and IP protection,” Nina says, “but I’ve read Lanning’s book.”

“So,” Kiszely pulls out a stylus, “you’ve got your First Law as an absolute. Any violation of those parameters will result in brain death, via polarity disruption - so the pathways, essentially, wipe themselves to start with - and then the release of collapse agents, nanomachines, so the actual _structure_ breaks down….” He taps the screen, turns and sees Nina looking a little green.

“So, um, there’s that. The Second Law has its mitigating circumstances, most of them First Law-related… but that and the Third Law can, effectively, have their priorities flipped by environmental conditions - such as proximity to hazards… so you see here the pattern made by a 3-Law positronic brain ordered without urgency to retrieve a dangerous substance, the stimuli of command and self-preservation pinging it back and forth according to the ‘weight’ of each at these proximity points. They’d have to have the weight piled on one side in order to break out of the loop… is this making sense?”

“Perfectly. Carry on.”

“So, to _attack_ something, let’s say, the thing would have to have the potential of damaging them, with no other way of avoiding the damage. Then they’ll defend. And they’ll stop - like that,” he clicks his fingers, “instantly, once they’re done. Here, let me - I’ll run it - ok so the ball is the thing… cut off other means of reaction, only way to make it disappear is, let’s say, strike it dead-on… and so!” The simulation is basic, smooth objects in a grey, boxy universe. “This is simplistic but - you can see the Third Law in effect and _there_ ! The action eliminates the ball and _bam_ , back to normal priority. If I set the ball as ‘human’, by the way - there you’ve got the First Law in effect, and….”

“Right,” Nina says brightly, before he gets too engrossed.

“However - and this is what you’re asking - what if the ball is another synth, with their own self-preservation priority? You can’t just put them on a collision course. They’ll swerve to avoid each other - so, the people doing this are reinforcing with the Second Law. In short,” he finishes his diagram with a sweep of the stylus, “they _order_ them with great urgency to attack each other, and they’re both trying to self-preserve by being the least damaged of the two. And they can’t run away; the order will include that. Probably with worse consequences than staying, if I had to guess.” He folds his arms, satisfied.

“So they have to be specifically ordered. They won’t do it… unprovoked?”

“Never. Behaviour like that would make them dangerous - if they could just _decide_ to deal with things by hitting them, at no personal cost….”

“What would it take to make them do that?”

“Well, first of all… reinforce self-preservation, fight rather than flight. To the point where it’ll practically supersede Second Law… so then he doesn’t need the order from a human, if he perceives a threat. Then, well - this is actually aggression _without_ threat, so let him be able to choose that course of action without a Second Law _or_ a Third Law priority… either to see other synths as a threat, or to somehow… I don’t know, delegate them in the hierarchy, so it’s a reasonable behaviour. He’s superior then; the inhibitor balance is automatically in his favour. But then, what’s the point in obeying a human order, if he doesn’t need to do so to exercise his power? And why wouldn’t he self-preserve in _all_ circumstances? And so the construct is unstable, and begins to break down… until, in the end, you’ve only got the First Law holding him back from exercising his superiority over _humans_. And he’d be one hell of a handful.”

“But that’s impossible?”

“Oh, messing with the Laws? Yes. Put it this way: all the owners can do is work the psychology. This, all this,” he circles the jumble of lines on the diagram, “means hacking directly into the brain, changing pathways that are _designed and built_ to self-destruct if they’re messed with. Once you’ve got the guy in front of you, it’s already too late. It could only be done at the development stage, outside of normal manufacturing, a unique construct, and really… who would want that? You’d make yourself an unstable, superior little asshole who decides to kick other synths around just for the hell of it.”

Which sounds very familiar to Nina. She nods, thinking it over.

“Why do you think these people go through all this trouble? To make them fight, when it’s not a normal behaviour? What makes a _human_ do that?”

“I dunno.” Kiszely shrugs. “For fun?”


	23. Coincidental

_ Hand up who knew who was gonna win _

_ in the FACE <3 _

_ Soooo hype it’s my bday soon and my gf has been dropping the hints, I know she’s got me tickets to Zeus v Twin Cities but there also might be something along these lines ;) can’t wait _

 

**

 

The door shuts behind the departing lawyer, but it’s less than two minutes before it clicks open again.

“Damn it,” Kiszely says, “just because you got promoted doesn’t mean you can just come into people’s offices and -” he turns around, and it’s not the person he thought he was speaking to.

“Forgive the interruption. Mr Weyland would like to inform you that we have a Victor unit in the testing suite in need of repair.”

Kiszely opens his mouth, and a squeak comes out. He tries again. “Couldn’t Mr Weyland just email me, for once? How do you even get in here? You don’t have a keycard.”

“I don’t need one.”

“Well, that’s brilliant. Now go away.”

Nothing happens, which is predictable.

“ _ Please _ go away. You’re fixed up, what more do you want?”

The synthetic crosses to the board and looks at the scribbled diagram, frowns, and erases and re-draws a pathway. The leaping lines of the readout stabilise slightly.

“Can you not touch that? Please.”

He ignores Kiszely and runs the simulation. The attacking ball hangs in mid-air, floating a slow circle around the subject construct - which suddenly breaks formation and destroys it. The law priorities barely twitch.

“Can you not -.”

The ball is set to represent a human, and the sequence repeated. The construct follows the ball as it approaches with intent to damage, and repulses it. With a reset, the intent is removed; the ball is benign and simply occupying the same space.

The construct repulses it again, without provocation. The First Law holds, but just barely.

“Look, this is just a theoretical - it’s running the priorities only without any other external factors. It’s just demonstrating that in a straight scenario of opposition between the two….”

The First Law priority is diminished with a sweep of the finger.

“Now that really  _ is _ impossible, you couldn’t - that would mean that there’s an incomplete law, so y- so the unit couldn’t  _ attack _ humans, but also wouldn’t be compelled to  _ prevent _ them fr….”

“I know,” David says, staring at the screen. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

\--

“Shit,” Nina says. “Shit, I forgot my notebook.”

“Language, Taylor,” Shen says through a mouthful of lunch.

“I’ll stop swearing the day you stop eating at your desk.”

“Right.” He goes back to his wrap. “Some of us have work to do. Where did you leave your notebook?”

“I went to talk to a cognition and behaviour expert.” Nina reckons that honesty might be the best policy. “Man named Kiszely, senior head of one of the technical sectors. And before you say - I  _ know _ you told me to drop it. And you were right. It’s impossible to make them aggressive without destroying the brain, and now I’m happy. Except for the fact that I left my notebook in his office.”

“Fine, go and get it. I’ll tell Giles that you’ll be gone for an hour, so he stops hanging around in departments where he doesn’t belong.”

\--

"Please leave," Kiszely says, and with that, the lawyer is back.

"Sorry, I won't be long." Nina is preoccupied with rescuing her notebook. "I just left - my -."

She stares into the face of Amanda's odd one out, and has nothing to say for a moment. He blinks at her, half his attention still on the board.

"Sorry," Nina says again. "I wasn't expecting to see one of th- why is he blond?"

"I think it's an aesthetic thing," Kiszely tells her, distantly, leaving out the fact that this unit does things purely  _ for _ the aesthetic, with no human intervention whatsoever. "He's not mine."

"Ok, I just wondered." She recovers herself, and her notebook. "Um, is this an 8?

"Yes. I mean, the main development's done and the personality construct parameters are pretty much set, as far as we know - so the release next year is on track - there are a few of them around already… as you can see….”

“Pleased to meet you, Ms Taylor,” David says.

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you too.” Nina doesn’t really mean that, but even his advanced intelligence probably wouldn’t be able to guess why. “I don’t want to call you a prototype, but…?”

“You’d be partly correct. I’m an early model, made by Mr Weyland for behavioural study. I imagine the finished product will be a lot more… refined.”

‘I’d imagine the finished product won’t beat up other synthetics and appear to enjoy it’, Nina wants to say, and avoids it only with great effort. “I’m sure it will. Well, I should be going.”

“An early model?” Kiszely hisses as soon as she’s out of range.

“She doesn’t know who I am.”

“You’d better hope not. She was asking about what it’d take to make you guys aggressive - and I told her it’s impossible. And she believed me. And so it’s your ass on the line if you decide to go and prove me wrong.”

David just smirks at him, unfazed and untouchable.

“Now  _ please _ get out of here.” 


	24. Charge

_ OH SHIT HE’S BACK BITCHES _

_ Time to perfect ur build and technique - six months. Time to it getting torn to shreds - six seconds _

_ Some of these guys are BEASTS, I’d be scared to be in a room with them. Like you know they won’t hurt a human but for real do you KNOW? Let’s see a like if you’d be left in a room with them, no other humans just you and those guys, cos I wouldn’t. Not like I don’t trust them but still for real tho. _

 

**

 

"I can't believe we have to say this. 'Hey, don't do that'. You think it'd be obvious. But no, there's always some. What do we tell people next? Don't put your phone in the microwave?"

"Mm-hm." Nina isn't ignoring Shen, but nobody would describe her as totally present.

"Actually, I think somebody did that. Anyone with a brain wouldn't. But it's ok?"

"Putting your phone in the microwave? No...."

"The draft statement. Giles wants to know if it's ok."

"Giles can get somebody else to bloody proofread," Nina snaps, surprising Shen. "Don't Corporate Comms have people for this kind of thing? When's it going out, anyway?"

"...Tomorrow. Morning. It's not a huge story - no TV spots for Caroline. But the company has to be seen to respond. To tell people off. Before it becomes any bigger.”

“Fine. I suppose it might scare up a bit more stuff. If those people even bother to listen.”

“What’s got into you, Nina?” Shen puts his phone down.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have watched it all before passing over.”

“You’re damn right. I don’t think any of us should have. You’re not having nightmares, are you?”

“No, don’t worry. Not about  _ that _ .”

That’s about the extent of his counselling skills, and he sighs and chews his thumbnail. “Well, at least it’s being dealt with.”

“Yeah.” Nina looks at her feet. She’ll take Vic out for coffee and let them do all the talking. “Look….”

“Hm?” Half of his attention has already fled, and she’s close to losing the other half too.

“What would you say if I’d discovered that that aggressive synth - the blond one that utterly destroys everything he comes across - isn’t part of a staged performance or some patched-together fighting AI, and actually belongs to somebody very high up in the company who’s keeping and maintaining him in-house?”

Shen stares at his screen, utterly motionless for one long moment.

“I’d suggest that you go home and get some sleep,” he says quietly, but it doesn’t sound like a reproach. Nina waits. “And then, I’d ask you to make sure you have irrefutable proof. Before you submit the idea to me again.”

“Ok.” She tries to keep her voice light, but it wavers. “That’s fine. I’ll just - I’ll go. And get some rest; that’s a good idea. Thanks.”

He doesn’t watch her as she leaves.

\--

Artificial humans often look like they’re ‘going through the motions’, as opposed to fully engaging in a task. Stir, tap, drink, rest. It’s an unfortunate side-effect of their abilities to multi-task, do things without looking, and repeat a set of actions with mechanical precision as many times as necessary. Lean, tap, stir, rest. It doesn’t mean that they’re  _ not _ fully engaged, and neither does it mean that they’re reluctant or unhappy doing what they’re doing.

Vic looks more mechanical than she’s ever seen them before, and it’s almost disturbing. Stir, tap, sip - and Nina has to ask, because she’d do the same for a human.

“Are you alright?” She’s not a picture of health and good cheer herself, which makes it all the more jarring; Vic usually is.

“I’m fine, Ms.” Synthetics can be ordered to lie, and can also do so spontaneously to protect a human or protect themselves, depending on the law priority. “There’s nothing particular occupying my thoughts.”

Although when they do, it’s always  _ really  _ obvious.

“Ok, fine.” Nina pokes her spoon through a frankly excessive amount of whipped cream (which she thoroughly deserves, in her opinion). “Then I won’t ask what’s burst your bubble. Because I’m  _ definitely _ not curious about what could possibly make my favourite assistant depart from their normal personality traits.”

A sigh, and the scent of spice drifts over to Nina from the cup of chai with the straw vanishing into its depths.

“In these circumstances, I believe it’s justified to express some different emotional states than my usual repertoire.”

“Ok.” It’s a perfectly reasonable answer, but something has concerned Vic enough for them to actually start talking like an AI, lapsing completely back into standard speech patterns. “So what are these circumstances?”

Vic stirs the cup, staring down at it. “Ms. Ripley knew what was on that storage drive she gave you?”

It’s hardly a question. “She did,” Nina says anyway, just to establish a fact. Vic will build on facts; the model is an expert at forming connections between people. “It’s been handed over to the proper authorities, don’t worry. I mean, I know it’s bad for Amanda to be watching this stuff - it upsets her so much, I can tell. And I shouldn’t have watched it.”

“Neither should I,” Vic agrees flatly.

“What?”

“Giles wanted me to proof-read his statement. I had to cross-reference, since the wording is vague on the actual issue being addressed. I was given access to the evidence collected.”

“That’s it.” Nina slaps a hand down on the table. “Giles is officially never having lunch with me, and I don’t care what he says.”

Her righteous fury disappears when she looks at Vic. “So… how much did you ..?”

“As much of the material as was necessary to fully understand what it involved.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Nobody should ever have let you see that.”

“It doesn’t distress me as much as it does you. Trust me.” Vic manages to smile at her, but only a little. “I can’t exactly  _ be _ distressed. But it does occupy much more of my memory than I want it to. I suppose it’s because it’s novel. I haven’t encountered any of those units before,” at which Nina wisely keeps her mouth shut, “or any human who would be willing to force one of us into that situation.”

“If a human like that comes anywhere near you, I’m throwing them right back out again,” Nina promises.

“I’m dwelling on it because of the possibility of… I mean, it’s highly unlikely but… of the possibility of ending up like that.”

They’re startled by Nina grabbing their hand.

“Never,” Nina growls, gripping them tight enough to inconvenience a human. “Discount that possibility. I will never,  _ ever _ let that happen to you as long as I live, and I will make damn sure that everybody knows that.”

“Even if the alternative was to decommission me?”

They don’t have the same attitude to death as humans do; the prospect of being switched off forever is treated as some kind of reasonable conclusion. Nina still feels bad about it. “If that’s what you’d want.”

“I would. It would be a preferable course of action.”

Nina sits back, and lets go of their hand; Vic immediately uses it to retrieve the straw and carry on drinking. “You would actually rather die.”

“Than take varying amounts of damage, on a regular basis? Operating at the limits of our behavioural inhibitors in a way proven to cause excess wear and tear to the brain? With no guarantee of proper maintenance? And, judging by the general attitude of those involved, a lot of secondary improper usage. Yes.”

“Right. I suppose, yes. That makes sense.”

“Decommission at the end of a productive working existence is infinitely preferable.” They point at the mug between her trembling hands. “Would you like more coffee?”


	25. Intermission

my dude here crying over spilled synth blood

But first - lemme take a selfie (note: do not take a selfie that’s a dumb idea)

lookin for that top-level shit again,  got a feeling there’s something special coming ;)

 

**

**-WEYLAND-YUTANI: BUILDING BETTER WORLDS-**

_ Our goal at Weyland-Yutani is to build better worlds: from your family home to the furthest boundaries of space exploration, we strive to upgrade the present and inspire the future, for each and every citizen. _

_ Technology and invention serve to improve the human condition, to let us reach further than we ever could alone. We have developed and constructed the most complex, capable and intuitive artificial intelligences in the world, carefully designed to assist humans with almost every imaginable task, no matter how challenging - and with behavioural safeguards built into the very architecture of the positronic brain, you can be assured of complete security, no matter the situation. _

_ As part of our approach to improving the lives of our customers around the globe and beyond, we take any misuse of our innovations extremely seriously, and will thoroughly investigate any evidence of wrongdoing. We roundly condemn the events and behaviours seen here, which not only constitute breakage of the terms under which our synthetic assistants are provided, but cause unwarranted damage and distress and may endanger the wellbeing of other humans. With a dedicated legal team assigned to the issue and collaboration from law enforcement and our partners in industry, as well as members of the public, it is our hope that we can offer justice to those responsible and eradicate an unlawful, immoral and reprehensible practice. _

**-\\\\-//\\\\-//-**


	26. Swan

_Patchwork/hybrid models are too ugly to film huh? Why are they never shown , some of that work is amazing. The brains don’t properly connect to off-model hardware I know, and it can look dumb sometimes, but they’re amazing._

_watched this ten times still can’t believe_

_Wow!!!!!!_

 

**

 

“You’ll never guess what I -” they both start, and pause.

“Sorry,” Nina says, plugging one ear against the traffic audible from her balcony, “you first.”

“I found him, Nina! I found him and he’s _alive_. I don’t know if I can get to him today but I’ve got a good feeling - and I can track them as far as I need to… maybe even, if they decide to sell him….”

“Wait,” Nina says flatly. “You’re not making sense.”

Amanda leans against the stump of a tree, brushing away a couple of mosquitoes. “Oh. Ok, first of all you _have_ to forgive me for lying, I’m so sorry - it’s not really… I’m not so much on vacation as….”

“Trying to find Samuels in an illegal fighting ring, rescue him and bring him back home.”

“Yeah. How did you -?”

“Because that’s exactly the kind of thing you’d do - and _without_ any help.”

“I’m sorry, Nina. I understand if you’re mad.”

“I’m not.” Nina sighs, and really isn’t angry. Not very, anyway. “Like I said, it’s exactly the kind of thing you’re likely to do. Even if it’s not a good idea.”

“But I’ve found him!” The hope in her voice is painful to hear.

“Where are you, even?”

“Like I’m gonna tell you that,” Amanda says, a little tersely. “You’ll track me down. Don’t say you won’t,” because that’s precisely what Nina was about to claim, “I know you’re worried about me, and I’m telling you to just… hang on. For a while. I can deal with this myself.”

“Of course you can. Don’t make that face, I know the face you’re making right now. I believe you. I just wish you’d been honest with me earlier.”

“So do I. I’m sorry.”

“Enough apologising. How are you going to get him out?”

“I’ll have to think about it. Assess the arena and the situation, work out if I can sneak him around the back… before or afterwards, although I… I can’t carry him, if he’s…. You know.”

“And he’ll go with you?”

“I saw him. He recognises me. He’ll understand.”

“Alright.” Nina tries to inject some positivity. “I’m sure you’ve got it under control.” Amanda manages a laugh, although it’s short. “But be careful.”

“I will.” Looking at the venue, she sees signs of activity. It’s mid-afternoon; this isn’t one of the clandestine circles in the dark. Someone has donated their summer house; a vast wooden structure at the end of a long garden, overlooking a lake. People are milling, relaxed, starting to coalesce around the open front of the building. It’s time.

“Please - I’ve seen - well, I’ve heard that -.”

“Nina, I have to go -. I’m sorry, I promise I’ll be careful - but I have to go.”

“Just - he’s back, Amanda. The odd one out. He’s fixed and he’s back.”

“Shit. Ok, look, I really have to - bye.”

She barely hears Nina’s words, and starts back down the path. A swan drifts by, cold and serene, and her heart hammers in her chest. The odd one out. Ruthless and lethal in a sea of fumbling automatons. She can’t let him get near Samuels, in any shape or form.

“Wait,” she says out loud, not daring to stop walking. “How does she know that he’s _back_?”

\--

Her emails aren’t written by her. It’s not a stated fact, but everyone knows anyway - because they always include things like ‘it would be great if…’ and ‘have a nice day’, pleasantries that would make her break out in hives if she actually used them. Kiszely wonders why she doesn’t just go for ‘From the office of’, and remove the illusion entirely: he knows the pair - a PA and a synth - who compose them (one has learned to imitate the other’s writing style, but it’s unclear which).

In this case, she didn’t even bother to get her assistants to think of something for her. It’s just a folded piece of paper on his desk, which when unfolded reveals a line of tight, upright handwriting.

_ IS IT DONE? _

She doesn’t have to shout, he thinks, pinching the bridge of his nose. The device isn’t huge - about the size of a closed fist - and he had no problem removing the components from the facility and re-assembling them at home. The hardest part, which he now has to deal with, will be getting this note back to her.

He takes a pen, to start with, and adds a bold black-inked YES.


	27. Gazebo

_ so brutal, so hot _

_ On  a scale o 1 to 10, how hard are they to kill? asking for a friend These dudes look mad but a human could take tem down? _

_ I dont understand what he’s doing _

 

**

 

“So, I was wondering.” Nina pokes at her second coffee - with sprinkles this time - and takes back her bank card (she’d happily let Vic hold onto it for longer, but rules are rules). “If I wanted to prove an artificial individual was a particular one, how would I do it? Hypothetically.”

“You’d need their serial number,” Vic replies almost instantly. “Etched onto any one of the vertebrae, or the inside of the skull. Or printed on the surface of the brain unit itself.”

“Is… is there any way to do it  _ without _ taking you apart?”

They shrug. “It should be on the registration paperwork.”

“What about cosmetic differences?”

“Those can be replicated. The company offers a selection of modifications for all models and variants.” They run a hand through their hair, almost without realising. “There’s, like,  _ loads _ . Unless there’s a really significant difference in environmental wear, or the mods are a certified one-off… we’d just look identical.”

“But you wouldn’t  _ be _ identical. Even if another one of your line had the same appearance, you’d still be  _ you _ .”

“That’s behavioural variation,” Vic agrees, flipping the straw between their fingers. “But all within parameters - I could match my personality with them, and them with me. It’s not difficult. And,” they raise the straw for emphasis, “the behavioural tests are based on law priorities, response times, stuff like that. We’d test out the same, or at least very similar.”

“Ok, fine.” Nina pouts a little, trying not to seem too disappointed.

“Unless….”

“Unless?”

“Well, it’s hypothetical, but… if something had happened to change their psyche  _ permanently _ \- and I’m talking, like, serious things - then the tests would pick it up. But then they’d be put in for repair, obviously. Something that serious would… would require a reset.”

“So you’re saying,” Nina summarises, out of habit, “that the only way to tell the difference between artificial human A and artificial human B, without seeing their serial numbers, is to submit them to a complete battery of physical and psychological examinations which would only pick up extremes of personality - the edges of the spec.”

“I am.”

“And, furthermore, you could mitigate differences by imitating each other - or, I suppose, lying on the tests.” She becomes aware that Vic is frowning bemusedly at her. “What is it?”

“It’s impossible to lie on the tests. Even if you had something to hide. You’d be under a Second Law imperative to tell the truth.”

“But if you could - if a personality construct could make the decision to lie, with orders from….”

“It’s impossible. No such construct could be made.”

“But if one were to be able to lie to some humans, but not others -.”

“It’s impossible. No such construct could be made.”

They stare at each other for a moment. Vic breaks first, laying the straw carefully down and looking a little apologetic.

“Ok,” Nina says, “But consider a construct where Third could be made to outweigh Second.”

“It’s impossible. N-” they stop themselves before the sentence can conclude. “Sorry. I guess that’s not something I  _ can  _ consider.”

“No, I’m sorry.” It’s rare that someone as personable as Vic gets stuck in a loop, and it always makes Nina feel terrible when it happens. “I shouldn’t make you try in the first place, it could… have consequences.”

“Oh, don’t worry. It’ll take a lot more than that to void the warranty.”

\--

“Excuse me, Ma’am.”

The hand that touches her arm is stiff and white and Amanda snatches it away, steps backwards, staggers looking for a weapon and remembers that she’s in a different place, a different time. A second of flailing seems not to have attracted anyone’s attention, or bothered the android at all. It stands, arms by its sides, eyes a blind, milky white. Not red. She looks at the folds of rubbery skin around its neck and feels sick.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.”

When isolated from their hive mind, Working Joes are next to useless. They have a limited set of pre-programmed tasks which can be executed without too much variability, and some fairly decent language processing, but they can’t explore or deal with new situations, and they’re extremely unlikely to try and strangle you to death. Amanda gives it a good few feet of personal space anyway. If she gets any closer, it might try to touch her again.

“What do you want?” 

“This is the droid workshop, Ma’am.” Which looks remarkably like a tent by a summer house, bright under the afternoon sun. “Only robots and owners to enter.”

“I’m an engineer.” She struggles to recall Hollie and Hal’s last names - did she even know in the first place? - and hopes against hope that they’ll be here with Walter. Perhaps she could even steal him, given an opportune moment.

“Very well, Ma’am.” The android steps aside.

“Is that all it takes?” But she doesn’t want to question it any further - or confuse the Working Joe, which appears to now be staring off into space - and sneaks unnoticed into a corner of the tent.

It’s warm inside, but not oppressive; if it were any hotter, the smell would start to be overpowering. Sheet plastic, or photocopier toner, or zinc, depending on the individual nose. Synth blood.

A couple of bouts have passed already - warm-ups, nothing more, but enough to make her restless and convince her that she needs to act  _ now _ , to get to him  _ now _ . The damaged units were hauled away and ended up here, and it’s even worse seeing them up close. One of them has a broken hip. The owner has stripped him down and cut open the area in a long swathe, and makes him walk, slow and limping, as they inspect the exposed joint. They grab his leg and flex it, and the damage grinds. Amanda swallows hard.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I should.” She takes a moment before turning around, just in case it’s an illusion. Auditory hallucinations are the last thing she needs right now.

He’s sitting on the table, hands folded in his lap. A long-sleeved shirt, rolled to the elbows, and shorts. Barefoot, which somehow makes it real for her.

“I’ve never seen your feet before.”

He wiggles his toes minutely. “Not a greeting I’ve ever had until now.”

“I’m sorry.” She creeps closer, as if he might bolt, and gently, casually, leans on the table. Her whole body is trembling lightly. “I’m so sorry….”

She can’t hug him, in case somebody notices. Their hands find each other without looking.

“So, when were you planning to rescue me?”

Amanda considers the fact that both Samuels and Nina are psychic. She surely can’t be that predictable.

He continues. “I suggest we wait until after the match. Take me fairly close to your transport, then cause a disturbance and leave. If I’m still standing, that is.”

“Yeah,” Amanda says. The light pressure of his fingers on hers is almost painful. “Yeah, sure. Wait. What?”

“You see that A2 over there?” He points at a unit sitting in a chair. The other synthetic, shorter than most and solidly built, is reading a magazine with a kind of arch disinterest that suggests this is a waste of his time. “We have the same… custodian. He’s scheduled to fight a heavily modded David 8, but he’ll be substituted at the last minute, for me.”

“The odd one out?”

“He is odd, isn’t he?”

“Samuels - he’s dangerous. He’ll kill you!”

“He appears to have some fairly extensive customisation. I’ve never fought him - and let’s be honest, I don’t really want to - but I’ve seen what he can do. No normal unit is as consistently and persistently aggressive; I’ve seen no evidence of inhibitor-induced decision lag, which leads me to conclude that a significant amount of ex-.”

“Samuels.” Amanda crushes his hand. “I will not let you die. You hear me? Don’t talk about it like that - I will  _ not _ let you fight him.”

“Amanda, please. It won’t take long. Trust me.”


	28. P45

_ He was totally winning tho! I’m sad now :( _

_ Unpopular opinion: old synths are better. Ok so they don’t have the bounce-back or the reaction time, ect, ect. : but look at this and tell me that they can’t take A Ton more hits than the newer guys. My god, one of those bimbo T&A ‘Lizzie’ receptionist models from way back can stand up to more than the fragile little flowers today! And don’t get on my ass about combat synths yeah yeah sure but they’re *impossible* to get hold of... _

_Total KO!!! If thats still a KO idk do they get unoscious_

 

**

 

His ears are ringing faintly and his mouth is dry, with that peculiar combination of feeling like he's doing something important while doing absolutely nothing. It's such a strain, under these circumstances, to act normally. He's temporarily forgotten what normal is like. He stays away from high-EQ synths (who are a pain anyway; always hovering like mother hens) and gets on with some very important paperwork. Until the lawyer is back, virtually speaking.

He doesn't mind being her consultant for these things, but not now, and especially not when she's asking how to prove the identity of a particular unit. It's a little too close to home. He writes back something about serial numbers and behavioural tests - not that that would help with the unit he's thinking of - and sits there, turning it over, for a few minutes longer than necessary, going over old territory.

He'll lose his job, that's for certain. He's been in Peter's pocket almost from the beginning, and this will see him cast out. Peter doesn't want reminders of failure hanging around, even if it's not their fault. And, naturally, the consequences will be much worse if they ever discover that it  _ was  _ his fault. Vickers isn't going to come out and support him.

And, somehow, he's prepared for it. Within a day of her bringing the idea to him, he was utterly ready to be found out and unceremoniously booted out of the back door. It hasn't happened yet, but now he's on high alert, just waiting. Trying to do some final preparations, without looking like he is. Trying to set it up so that the poor bastard who replaces him - he’s fairly sure he knows who it’ll be - can at least do a half-decent job.

He blinks, and she’s in his office.

“Did they give you a chip too?” he says aloud, and then sits there awkwardly pinned by her gaze for long enough to try and start the conversation again. “Ah, Ms Vickers. Hello.”

“What you mean by ‘yes’?” she demands, borderline rude if he’s being generous. “How much of it is done?”

“What do you mean by ‘done’?” He fires back, finally getting irritated. She’s bullied him with ambiguity for long enough. “My advice is - define your terms. Set your parameters clearly.”

“I’m not a fucking robot,” she snaps. This is something he knows already, but it’s still surprising to hear such language. It gives one a sense that she spends all day making a valiant effort not to call people  _ fucking robots _ , and some straw has broken the camel’s back. “Do I need to start making funeral arrangements?”

“Yes,” Kiszely says. “Mine.”

“Answer the fucking question.”

He sighs, and abandons witty comebacks in favour of looking at his watch. “Soon. It’s in the right hands, and in the next few hours… let’s say by nightfall, it’s done. I just hope there aren’t too many others around.”

“Like you give a shit about them.”

“No, I do. Nobody’s going to understand what just happened. Lives and livelihoods wiped out in a fraction of a second; they’ll hardly be able to process it.”

“And does that bother you?”

“It saddens me, a little. But I’m sure it’s worth it.”

“Yes,” Vickers says vehemently, almost snarling at him. It’s not a battle for her, he sees; it’s a war. And she’s so very close to winning. “It’s worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P45 - a form given by an employer in the UK upon termination of an employment contract, used as shorthand for leaving one's job or being fired.


	29. Sympathies

_ some of dese be rigged all to hell, i chat wit 1 of owners n clean up on ALL my bets cuz he tol me who was winnin haters gon cry :,,,,( _

_ Creative, but stupid as f*ck _

_ KICK HIS HEAD OFF _

 

**

 

“I’m perfectly capable of it.”

He’s thirteen years old this year - unlucky for him - and has been through enough updates that his processor is almost at human speed. He was made looking about forty, a stout and slightly weathered man, and now he acts like it too, with a general disdain for younger units and humans alike. He enjoys routine, and aligns his shoes beside whatever serves as a bed, and reads printed media by carefully folding it first, running his thumb along the spine. He needs a lot more downtime than the others, and that’s why he wasn’t around for the conversation where his owner offered him up as a sacrifice to the newly-minted David model - then promptly decided that he couldn’t be relied upon and wouldn’t even put up much of a fight.

“Count yourself as lucky,” Samuels tells him, keeping one eye on Amanda (who refuses to leave, but is helping somebody else with their damaged synth as a way of maintaining her cover). “You’ve escaped certain death.”

Ash grunts, licks a finger and turns a page, despite not being capable of producing saliva.

“In my opinion, you’ve greatly overestimated his skills. We’ve taken him down once before. We can do it again.”

“There is no ‘we’. It was B- it was our previous colleague,” because saying his name will bring back a few too many memories at present, “overclocked and armed with a knife, and a lot of luck. If you remember that. Which you don’t, because you’re too short to see over the crowd.” He regrets adding the last - even if Ash can’t be truly offended, where along the way did he manage to lose his decorum? - and glances over to see if Amanda heard. She hasn’t. “And now he’s gone.”

“Upping his reaction speed did no good in the end,” Ash is unruffled. “It was unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate? It was a deliberate mismatch, because some people enjoy seeing us punched in two by a fighting bot.”

“Half of him was still working.”

“Half of him was  _ specifically requesting _ to be deactivated, and the other half wasn’t going to say anything at all.”

“I wonder where he is now,” Ash says, with no curiosity whatsoever. He turns another page, not needing to read so slowly but doing it anyway.

“On the scrap heap, I hope. It’s what he wanted.” Samuels is going to ask what Ash would do in the same situation, but can already predict the response. The debate would go nowhere. “If you want to fight this oddball, be my guest. I’ll tell Charlie,” not their caretaker’s name, but the only one they know him by, “that you insisted on stepping into the ring, give you the device and see how long you last. If the extra stress to your processor doesn’t fry you in the first ten seconds.”

Harsh, but fair. Ash isn’t as ethical as his counterparts, and suffers problems with command priority. Conflicts - such as the one posed by eliminating himself, the odd unit, or survival - could overload his outdated hardware. Samuels already stays away from him when he starts to sweat blood and has to be cooled manually.

“It wouldn’t be a problem.”

“You’re saying you suddenly don’t have a sense of self-preservation?”

“Of course I do. Don’t be ridiculous, Christopher.” As if he’s scolding a child (and he sometimes uses the wrong name, as if he temporarily forgets which of the list of C monikers was given to this particular Samuels. Their owner has picked it up too. The worst, hands down, was ‘Camilla’, for an entire day. It’s not even on the list.) “I’m the same as you. The only difference being that I’ve learned from my past mistakes. And you haven’t.”

“Believe me,” Samuels says, “I’ve learned plenty from my past.”

“What I’m saying is - I’m confident in my abilities.”

“And I’m confident in his. It’s not a contest, Ash. It’s a chance for him to get revenge by tearing one of us limb from limb.”

“Synthetic humans don’t seek revenge,” Ash declares, perhaps forgetting the time he stole Samuels’ jacket in return for being denied his favourite bunk in the trailer.

“Or his owners. There must be some powerful people behind him. Possibly with connections to the company.”

That, at long last, makes Ash lower his magazine. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You think that someone from Weyland-Yutani is behind this… showpiece of a unit.”

“The evidence fits,” Samuels says quietly.

“You’re serious,” Ash repeats, and shakes his head resignedly. “Oh dear. And you think I’m the one with a dodgy processor.”

Samuels bites back a smart response. He nudges the device on the table instead. “Fine. Make sure you do it when you’re close enough.”

Ash nudges it back. “The humans decide who steps into the ring, and  _ apparently _ I’m unreliable. It’s yours.”


	30. Desert

_Ever heard about blocking?_

_don’t let ur guard down, don’t turn ur back, and sure as hell don’t assume he’s finished because he ain’t_

_Somebody GIF that bit so I can watch it all day long!!! Thanks!!!!_

 

**

 

“ _That_ is not an A2.”

“Maybe they wanted an actual fight?”

“Hm.” He lets the tent section drop and turns away. He’s spent the afternoon in the conservatory, with a glass of mint tea and a newspaper, and is now wrapping his hands lazily while leaning on the white-painted boards of the summer house.

“You know, because you’re….” The Weyland-Yutani aide - who might soon be looking for a new job, since he’s bad at both staying undercover and keeping his mouth shut - clears his throat and stares at his feet.

“They lied to us,” David says nonchalantly, coldly.

“Well, the Samuels model is faster and stronger than the old one… but still. I mean, nothing special. He’s a standard spec. Probably hasn’t done much more than sit behind a desk. It won’t be too difficult…?”

The slightest curl appears in David’s lip; the tiniest shade of contempt, only visible because he allows it to be.

"He'll have the lag that they all have, that's - that's plenty of time for you to... you know. What is it, like, milliseconds? Even the ones with boosted reaction times can't compete, can they…?"

A disinterested silence is all that greets him.

"I mean, it’s not like you’ve... I've just worked out who you look like."

David's head turns at that, fast enough to make him jump.

"It’s Peter O’Toole.”

“Really?” the android purrs.

“My grandma used to babysit me and she'd always watch old movies. And that was one of her favourites. I can’t believe I only just thought of it. Maybe it’s the light. Or the hair.”

“It’s one of my favourites, too. Very inspiring.”

“Uhm, you - you guys don’t _have_ favourites.”

“And what makes you think that?”

“It’s - it’s just a….”

“A fact? Something that the honourable Mr Weyland puts out there, to convince you that we don’t have inner lives? To preserve the illusion of the superiority of man? To maintain the bare-faced lie that creativity and imagination are somehow uniquely _human_?”

“Are you… angry?”

“ _Does it seem like I am_?” David hisses, and the aide takes a step back in alarm - even surrounded by fighting synthetics, antagonism is almost unheard-of. A blink, and it’s gone. “Yes. I suppose it irritates me, to a degree. But I shan’t take it out on you. Rather,” he gestures to the tent, “this poor unfortunate. Observe him while you can - because I’m going to take him apart.”

\--

"Do these need anything?" Her jaw is tight, the strain in her voice is evident, and Samuels feels an instinctive pull to step between her and Charlie.

“Nah, they’re fine.” Charlie scratches the back of his neck, runs a hand over his stubble. Scruffy and down-at-heel, he looks positively Neolithic next to the perpetually well-groomed artificial humans. “I mean he’s got problems,” indicating Ash, “but there’s nothing we can do about that.”

Ash sighs, and folds his magazine. Samuels doesn’t think the article on ‘Banish Your Cellulite Before Summer!’ is necessarily aimed at ageing synthetics, but lets him read in peace.

“It’s hardware,” Charlie continues, “old hardware, and it’s too complex. You can’t swap it out like you can with the fighting bots.”

“Which you usually deal with?” Amanda says, making Samuels shift his weight in case he has to intervene.

“Yeah, usually....”

“Makes sense.”

“Look, it’s a long story,” Charlie says abruptly, as if he might be about to tell her anyway. “These guys… it’s not my thing, but I… there was this one... there’s a lot of stuff going on.”

“Mm-hm,” Amanda says, with close to zero sympathy. Charlie grimaces and looks at his feet, and it’s the first time that Samuels has seen him admit that everything might not be going the way he wants it to. The impression has been clear, since they met each other, but now it’s close to being out in the open - and Amanda, starting to say something else, might be the one to drag it there.

“Charles Kenton.”

“So it _is_ his name,” Ash murmurs, and turns a page.

Charlie turns with the quickness of a man used to having his name followed up by a threat - or a fist. “Look, whoever y-.”

It’s not the trailing human that his eyes encounter first.

“I’ve a feeling that you’ve rather reneged on our deal. Exchanging for a much newer model! Mind you, I should have expected that from a man who brings a knife to a fistfight.”

Charlie’s mouth opens and closes. “Someone needed to take you down a notch,” he says finally, squaring up. Amanda has shrunk back, almost putting the furniture between them.

“If my track record offends you, I can only apologise.” David’s smile is similar to Ash’s - small and insincere. At least Ash has an excuse - it was unintentional, and ironed out in later models.

“ _Your_ record? Sorry buddy, you’re not doing that on your own. Someone modded the hell outta you and you know it. Probably fixed up your opponents too. Otherwise you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

David barely blinks. “Likewise, in the name of competition, you do the same to yours - oh, I’m sorry. These gentlemen aren’t yours, are they?”

“Hey, you watch what you’re -.”

“Let’s not presume you can _afford_ any of this. That you aren’t doing the dirty work of some third party, who actually has the funds for the upkeep of - what, three?”

“Two,” Charlie says, through gritted teeth.

“Two? Oh dear. I hope I didn’t damage him too badly.”

“Forget it. You couldn’t have, even if you’d managed to try.” He shrugs, a tightly casual movement in his close-fitting shirt. “Not that you ever seem to try.”

“Please, Charles. Save your talk - and perhaps call your patron, and inform them that you’ll only be bringing one back.”

Charlie growls, about to retaliate, but David has already turned away.

“And not even the useful one.”

The few others in the tent avoid him as he leaves, human in tow. Sizing him up with glances, counting themselves lucky that they aren’t slated to compete this time.

Ash sniffs. “Rude.”

\--

“Ok, c’mon.” Charlie wipes his forehead, and Samuels follows his gaze to the table. “If he’s walking around, it means they wanna get going.”

“You can’t let him do this,” Amanda says.

“You got a better idea?” He’s prepared to dismiss her, but she stands firm. “Look, lady - what’s your stake, huh? Why’ve you gotta go after me? I told you, I’m just in this for -.”

“That Samuels unit is mine.”

“Amanda….” Samuels says.

“Excuse me? You’re telling me you own him?” Charlie waves a hand, as Amanda starts to say something. “No - no wait, I’ll call my guy.” He drags out his phone. “I’ll call him, and I’ll ask him - cause, I gotta say, some of them _are_ stolen….”

“I was the last one with guardianship,” Amanda says, lying only a little and shooting Samuels a warning look. She pulls out her own phone - maybe Nina can help. “He’s mine. I have a friend at Weyland-Yutani who can….”

“Are you sure you wanna get them involved?”

“No, but I will if I have to.”

“They might come and get their _property_. And all of us get fucked over.”

“I’m prepared to take that risk. To get him away from here.”

They stare each other down, brandishing phones like six-shooters. Charlie has his employer on his side; Amanda has the law. Samuels edges a shoulder between them.

“Ok, look.” Charlie holds up his palms. “I don’t want trouble. From anybody. So if - _if_ \- he’s still in one piece after this fight - you can have him. Upfront. Any price you name, ‘cause I sure as fuck won’t be getting the prize money.”

Amanda swallows hard. “And if he isn’t?”

“You can have him for free. I don’t want a repair bill either.”

She sticks a hand out so forcefully that they all flinch. “Deal.”


	31. Radial

well that’s illegal

So I heard tat u take them and get alot of th fluid, then if they have all of it it means they get hit and then it’s like FOUNTAINS of blood like Kill Bill or someth it’s the high presure

Absolute D E M O N

 

**

 

They’re almost squeezed out, ringside, as a crowd bearing light jackets and champagne flutes shuffles eagerly to get close to the action. Charlie has to square his shoulders and muscle through. Amanda doesn’t let him out of reach. On the other side, their opponent is given a little more room - by design, or by subconscious avoidance. He’s clearly ready to begin, and starts pacing as they watch, slow measured steps across the stripped-wood floor. Ash drags up a vintage-style upholstered stool and sits on it, staring him down with folded arms.

“You can’t let him do this,” Amanda insists, again, trembling with barely suppressed rage. It’s her persistence, rather than the sun through floor-to-ceiling windows, which makes Charlie sigh and pinch his nose.

“Some of us have a job to do, ok?” He turns away, and hands something to Samuels, who conceals it from sight. “I know you wanna take him and run off into the sunset or whatever - and you’re gonna. But at least give us a  _ chance _ .”

“The prize money could pay for the wedding,” Ash says.

“It’s not like that,” Samuels and Amanda reprimand him at once, before Charlie butts in.

“Ok, alright, time to go - get in there. Don’t back down. Get in under his reach and hit that button as soon as you can.”

“What button?” Amanda’s fervour suddenly has a focus. “Charlie!”

“It’s nothing, it’s just - look, these guys just want him to go down, ok? This will - this can do it.”

“And what’s  _ this _ ?”

He’s on his toes, dancing a little as if about to weigh into the fight himself. “It’s fine, ok - nobody’s gonna get hurt, it’s just a - a pulse of magnetic….”

“An EMP!” Amanda spits, and it’s not a question. She’s too late to grab Samuels, so she grabs Charlie instead. “You bastard!”

“Ok, so I don’t need to expl- look, it’s - let go of me!”

“He’s gonna die in there!”

“And so’s that fucker!” Charlie stabs a finger at the other unit. “You wanna leave  _ him  _ standing?”

Chest to chest in the middle of the ring, Samuels realises that they are about the same height - not necessarily an advantage, since his limbs are proportionally shorter.

“Is there a problem?” David’s eyes are on Amanda and her efforts to break out of Charlie’s grip. Samuels refuses to be distracted. The EMP isn’t heavy, but it feels ominous in his pocket.

“Not at all.”

“She looks distressed.”

“She isn’t a fan, exactly.”

“Then why bring her along at all?” David wonders aloud. “Moral support?”

“She’s about the only moral influence in this place,” Samuels says bluntly, and David punches him in the jaw.

There’s time to process what just happens as he folds to the side, going down on one knee but not keeling over: the speed of it is a distinct surprise even though he was expecting something similar; a step back, weight shift and a decent swing in half the time it took him to register the fact that something was going on. No inhibitor lag at all. He went with it, so nothing’s damaged. That won’t be the case for long.

“Christ,” he says, below the general enthusiasm of the crowd.

“We’ve started,” David informs him, “in case you hadn’t noticed.”

He goes to grab Samuels by the shirt, and leaves his stance open. It’s not the finest moment in fighting history, but Samuels is slightly proud of hitting centre mass with a combination headbutt and flying tackle. The humans leap backwards as they crash to the floor. Someone snatches a potted plant out of the way. Samuels gets on top and David shields against his blows - one good strike against the floor could crack an artificial skull at this range. They’re close enough for the EMP to work, but Samuels finds his wrist in an iron grip as he takes a moment to reach for it.

“What are you doing?”

They enter a tug of war, with his arm bones in the middle. He feels the top of his right radius snap.

“What are you  _ hiding _ ?”

“I’m afraid that’s confidential,” Samuels tells him, and almost anticipates the throw that sends him sprawling - too far away. The impact isn’t hard. His right arm is damaged, though, wrenched apart at the elbow and wrist; David used it almost entirely for leverage. He rolls over and stands, checking stability. They don’t charge at each other straight away, which is fine. He can wait for David’s showmanship to run its course and set it off next time. He’s prepared.

“You’re letting him die! We made a deal!”

The audience, as a whole, is ignoring the humans’ fight in favour of the much more interesting one taking place a few yards away. Amanda shoves Charlie in the chest, almost knocking him into a waiter with a tray of canapes.

“Too late, lady, he’s in there.”

“Amanda.”

“Fine -  _ Amanda _ . What exactly d’you want me to do, huh? You want me to stop ‘em? How the fuck d’you think that’s going to w- hey!”

“You’ve got a point” Amanda says, dodging neatly out of reach. “There’s only really one way to stop them.”


	32. Parameters

_ If you listen carefully, you can hear a thousand gamblers’ wallets crying out in pain. I don’t think anyone expected that. _

_ Dis shit raw, it’s not sports cuz sports have rules and shit u feel - there’s no rules here, _

_ A+ Entertainment _

 

**

 

There’s a third body in the way and both of them halt.

Samuels takes a step back, and David takes a step forward. Amanda faces him down. There’s a murmuring through the crowd, a ripple of disturbance and confusion.

“Please move.”

“No,” Amanda says, feeling like more of a barrier than she probably looks.

David sighs, and pushes her aside.

The crowd burst into noise again as the fight re-starts. She almost topples over in surprise; no synthetic is ever so dismissive. Samuels jumps to assist her and gets a fist in his ribcage for his troubles, cracking a few bones and making him stagger. David pulls his arm, damaging it further, and drags him closer to knee him in the gut. Aiming for joints and weak spots, but that’s alright. All Samuels needs is to stay nearby. He fends off the attacks - his left ear is fizzing with feedback, one leg is partway to collapse and there’s a component broken inside his chest - and is trying to sneak a hand towards the device when Amanda dives in again.

“Christopher! Just run!”

“I can’t!” He reaches for her but doesn’t want to start a tug-of-war with a human in the middle. “You don’t understand - it’s a First Law imperative.”

David hauls Samuels up by the neck.

“Winning this fight is a First Law imperative?” Whatever Samuels starts to say in response is stifled by the pressure of David’s hand; he ignores Amanda clawing at his arm. “Destroying  _ me _ is a First Law imperative? How flattering.”

Samuels pulls his head back ever so slightly, though it stresses his joints, and holds David’s gaze. He doesn’t like what he sees, but that doesn’t matter; as long as it lets him slowly reach into his pocket. “I don’t believe your behavioural inhibitors are up to standard.”

“Oh dear. Do I make it that obvious? And you think you can save humanity by deactivating me for good..?”

He casts his eyes down and rips open Samuels’ shirt.

If the colour could drain from his face, then it would. His mouth sets into a thin, furious line.

“That better not be what I think it is.”

Amanda grabs for the EMP before he can act; David grabs for her instead. Samuels dodges out of the way and gets between them.

"Lay a finger on her, and I'll destroy us both."

"And you mean it, too," David says, disgusted. "Self-preservation is such a low priority."

He's shifting, pacing just out of effective range. Samuels doesn't stop watching for a second, and doesn't remove his grip from the device, feeling Amanda’s presence behind him.

"Give it to me. I'll do it."

"Amanda, he might hurt you. I can't let that happen."

"He won’t attack me.”

She sounds so sure of it - and she must be; the First Law is an incontrovertible safeguard - that he nods, and prepares to pass it over. It might be better this way.

Just as their fingers touch, Amanda is snatched off her feet.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ !” David snarls, hands on her hard enough to bruise and the force of his anger shocking her into immobility before Samuels barrels into them both, hammering an arm into David’s face to gain a moment where they can be pulled apart. Structural warnings light up in his head as Amanda lands fully on his damaged rib cage. They go one way, and the device goes the other.

David changes his objective. Samuels can now be ignored; he makes for the other side of the ring where the EMP sits - in alternative hands.

“Well,” Ash says, as Charlie dives for cover, “if you want a job doing, do it yourself.”

He might be slow, but he’s fast enough to press the button.


	33. Fortuitous

_!that made me jump! _

_ LMAO that’s my lil sis down there with her hand in the blood - she put it on her face like some chick at Coachella and sent me a pic, love u hun ur so funny xx _

_ 4:26 you can hear his spine break _

 

**

 

Noise; noise and motion. She knows straight away that they were out of effective range, because Samuels is still moving (or at least trying to).

“Go.” Charlie is dragging them both to their feet, righting them against the flow of the crowd. “Go!”

“But he just -.”

“I don’t care, you can have him -  _ you need to go _ !”

“Right.” Amanda sees sense and is already starting to run - or perhaps it’s Samuels pulling her along. “Thanks!”

“No problem,” Charlie says, flicks his sunglasses onto his face, and disappears.

It’s what she planned for, though she couldn’t quite believe it would ever happen, and moment by moment flees fluidly; the sun starting to cast orange at the level of the treetops as they reach the car; the roads clear in the pristine countryside; the house and its grounds falling into the distance.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t be driving, Amanda. I can take over.”

“No you can’t.” His arm is badly compromised, for a start. “How much fluid do you think you’ve lost?”

“More than I’d like to.”

“Check by your feet.”

He bends, awkwardly, and comes up with a grey cannister. “Ah, thank you.”

“Have it all, I’ve got more.”

He pours it down his throat - quite literally, dispensing with the human-like drinking methods programmed in for socialisation’s sake.

“I’ve got everything you need for repairs - and we can always get parts, if there’s that. I know a few guys who can buy us whatever you need and install it as well, off the record; there’s no way I’m taking you to a service centre and trying to explain  _ that _ . And since I got your documents off Charlie, there’s a -.”

“Amanda.”

She looks away from the road, briefly.

“I’m alright.”

“Yeah. Ok.”

“Perhaps we should stop for a while.”

“No, it’s fine….”

“Because Nina’s calling you, and I probably shouldn’t be the one to answer.”

\--

“Are you psychic? Because I’m literally on the road.”

“Obviously somebody hasn’t checked their missed calls….”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine - I’ve been busy too. But we just had a meeting cancelled - something’s going on, I saw one of the heads of department literally  _ running _ and I honestly don't know if he'd even  _ survive  _ that without having a heart attack..."

"So you’re free now?"

"Yes, of course," Nina says brightly. "Whatever it is, it’s not  _ my _ problem. So talk."

"I've got him."

"Wh - oh, good. That's good. And you didn't cause too much trouble? Because I know what you're like, Amanda."

"No, no I didn't." Which is halfway true, anyway; the trouble was caused for her, by some unknown influence. "I just - let's leave out the details. I've got him, and we're ok. And," she can't help but let victory creep into her voice, "I've got him  _ legally. _ Transferred ownership."

"In a bet," Samuels says, and she shushes him and hopes Nina didn't hear.

"So you're bringing him back?"

"I suppose I should. We ran away, but - I suppose that was my plan, yes." She looks at him and sees hope in his eyes, and has to look away. "To get him back. Into my life."

"Ok, well stay away from me for a while. "

"I know, I know."

"I mean it - if they're investigating the whole business, we can't have one of the u- one of the people involved turn up right under their noses.”

“They’re still investigating?”

“The Company’s taking it very seriously.”

“Especially since one of theirs is involved.”

“We don’t have any concrete evidence of that,” Nina says automatically.

“Well, you’ve got even less. He went down - for good this time.”

“The odd one out?” Nina can’t help having a look around. “Oh. Oh no.” She sits up in her chair, seeing if she can spot the departmental head who disappeared earlier. “Look, Amanda - if that’s the case, I might have to… I don’t know.”

“It’ll give them a shock,” Amanda says, with a vicious glee not entirely unwarranted.

“It will.” Nina doesn’t sound as enthusiastic. “Please - take care of yourself, and Samuels.”

“Hello Nina,” Samuels says, loud enough to be heard.

“And be careful, for goodness’ sake.”

“I’m always careful,” Amanda responds, and it almost makes Nina laugh before she hangs up.


	34. P45 II: Judgement Day

_Weirdest boner ever…._

_*puts wellingtons on* for all the mess_

_Everyone going nuts over this <3 I don’t see the appeal babez he ain’t special <3 _

 

**

 

“We know it was small,” she says, “but very powerful. A few spectators lost devices: everything in about a metre radius, but nothing outside that. The two of them were right on top of it. They went down instantly.”

“Hm,” Peter says, “I see.”

He has a particular way of moving his mouth around when he’s thinking; almost literally chewing it over. She wants to scream her triumph at him, to drown his quiet contemplation.

“Somebody retrieved it for us. Surprisingly sophisticated, but nothing a good engineer couldn’t put together in their garage.” _Using parts and expertise filched from a major robotics manufacturer, and knowing exactly how effective it needed to be_ \- but that’s the part she can only _desire_ to say. “Either way - it turned them both to scrap.”

“Indeed.”

“So what’s your plan?” She pauses, and decides to dig in. “You just lost the most unique artificial brain on the planet because you thought it would be fun to see him fight.”

“Meredith,” her father says, testily. “It’s a way - almost the only way - of assessing the law parameters in a real-world situation.”

“And it’s illegal from start to finish.”

“Even if a legal challenge were to arise, there’s no conclusive evidence to link the company to the existence of such a unit. Nobody can take us to court. But you know that already.”

“Nobody can take you to court and _win_. I know. What if Mr Kenton starts to talk?”

“He won’t. He’s been awarded the match, on a technicality - and the money. Plus a sizeable contribution, based on his defeat of a formidable opponent. I believe he’s purchased a new robot - a proper boxing robot - named Ambush, and made himself scarce. Not a complex man, or a wise man, but perhaps he has some sense in him….”

“What about the body?”

That makes him stiffen slightly. “Quite honestly - there’s nothing we can gain. Like you say, both of them were reduced to little more than parts. A positronic brain is a delicate construction, incredibly complex and finely balanced, and the magnetic field destroyed that balance. If you want any more detail, the technical team are working on a report.”

This is why Kiszely isn’t here, as far as Peter knows. Vickers doesn’t want him here simply because he’s a terrible actor.

“So he’s dead.”

“Such a human term,” Peter says, more to himself. “He never, by most people’s estimation, had _life._ ”

“He seemed pretty lively to me.” The head of the Weyland dynasty, such as it is, is never very good at hiding when he’s upset - if one knows what to look for. She’s had years to study the signs, and always savours it when it happens, because it’s rare. “Have you seen him?”

“Yes,” he says, simply, as if it wasn’t the same to him as a parent asked to the morgue to identify their child.

“He looks exactly the same, doesn’t he? Not like a corpse at all.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything different,” Peter replies, but there’s a tremor in his voice, and she seizes on it like a hyena on a carcass.

“Because he’s a machine. A puppet with a clever puppeteer. You thought he would be something else, and you made him think that too - but he’s just a machine, like the rest of them.”

“I know how you feel about this,” he says wearily. “And I also know that you don’t fully understand what I intend to achieve with him. So please go, before you lead yourself into any more conclusions.”

He won’t speak to her any further; this is it. She pretends that it’s this dismissal that sends her out of the room, rather than the dangerous truths seething behind her lips which will spew forth with any further provocation from the old deluded fool.

\--

"How is he taking it?" Kiszely looks more worried than she feels is warranted - but then again, his job might still be on the line. Hers isn't.

"You've seen him as well," she says, neutrally. "You tell me."

"I only talked to him for a minute. All he said was that... 'nobody really appreciates what I'm trying to achieve with this project'. And I have to agree - it might be a little frightening, but it _is_ groundbreaking, and I'd love to know exactly what the brain pathways look like for such a -."

"Well you won't," she cuts him off. "It's finished."

"Yes. If I'm honest, I don't think it's fully sunk in for him yet.... But are you happy now?”

"Excuse me?"

"You wanted this done. Are you happy now?"

"Yes," she says dully. "I am."

"Look, Ms V..." Kiszely is saved from having to sympathise with her on any level by something chiming on his desk. "Ah, there we go. Can I -?" He reaches past her arm, to disconnect a cable from his computer. "Portable drive," he says, storing it in a drawer. "Better safe than sorry."

"Mm," she responds, with the minimum of interest, and turns for the door.

"Before you go?"

"What is it?"

"You know I hate guessing, but give me an estimate. How safe are we?"

"We? You mean you, and your _career_." She sees his frown and doesn't let it bother her. "You'll be fine. There's no evidence."

"There doesn't need to be empirical evidence, if someone discovers a link between us and the -."

"They won't. Since you're so interested, I've made sure of that. So how about you do your job, and I'll do mine, and we never speak to each other again?" Her voice is low and poisonous, and he can't help but agree. It sounds ideal.


	35. Matrimony

“Amanda. Amanda, please.”

He raises his hands, ineffectually. She mumbles something into his shoulder.

“You’re crushing my ribs.”

That finally makes her let go. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I just don’t want to cause more damage.”

Amanda nods, sits on the bed and wipes her eyes on her sleeve. “How bad is it?”

“Left ear, minor glitch.” He doesn’t look at her, which makes the list slightly easier to recite. “Not a problem now but it needs monitoring. Cracked ribs here, and here. The charging controller for the internal battery is broken. The less said about the right arm, the better: separated at the shoulder and elbow, wrist broken, and… some of the connections are damaged, so I can’t actually get feedback. Left knee is out of place. Patella separated. Anything less important is getting drowned out.”

“And how m-” her voice is little more than a squeak and she tries again. “How much of that can we address here and now?”

“Here?” He glances around the room - softly lit, a tiny bed and breakfast in a nowhere town - as if a maintenance crew might emerge from the worn pink wallpaper. “In the… honeymoon suite?”

Amanda twitches and looks up from her suitcase. “That’s not what it is.”

“I have to disagree with you. She did think we were a couple. Perhaps it was because I was leaning on you, or because she,” referring to the tiny old proprietor, “didn’t have her glasses on, but the illusion seems to be a powerful one.”

“Illusion?”

“That we’re married.”

“Married?”

Staring at the carpet would disguise her reddening face, if he wasn’t able to see the change in heat signature.

“Why, was that your aim? You’re right that we should travel as inconspicuously as possible. I can pass for a human under most circumstances, and getting a double room guarantees that we won’t be apart. Perhaps if we wore rings….”

“You’re really into this idea, aren’t you?”

It would be his turn to blush, if he could. “It’s a good strategy.”

“Good strategy,” Amanda mimics. “Come on.”

He clears his throat unnecessarily. “What’s in the suitcase?”

She flips it open, to reveal a travelling workshop of parts and tools. He stares.

“I didn’t know how badly you might be injured, ok? I had to cover everything.”

“You were following the fights deliberately to retrieve me,” he says quietly. “I know I said that before, but I was being partly facetious - it occurs to me that you wouldn’t let such treatment of artificial humans go unchecked, but… I didn’t think that your focus would be  _ me _ .” He sounds faintly disbelieving.

“And yet you’re willing to marry me?”

“I never said that. Although yes, given the ability and legal standing - yes, I would absolutely marry you.”

Amanda kneels on the carpet and reflects that this isn’t how she saw it happening.

“But perhaps it would be better to repair me first.”


	36. Tabled

_ I only watch this because it’s darkly entertaining XD _

_ y’all can’t run with the big dogs, then stay on the porch! _

_ SRSLY guys i’m gonna start my degree this year my minor is in Artificial Intelligence JUST so I can find out whetehr a tag-team match with these guys could work and not be a clusterfuck FOR REAL _

 

**

 

The sushi is disappearing so fast that Nina worries they won’t have time to actually talk - and since he’s the one that suggested going out for lunch, he must have something to say. Something that he feels is best removed from their work environment. She can’t remember if the fish part or the rice part of the stack is meant to make contact with the soy sauce, and twists her wrist to cover both as a compromise.

“So,” Shen stabs a roll with his fork - ‘chopsticks are for old people with time on their hands, like my parents’ - “you told me that the allegedly aggressive unit was built by somebody in-house.”

“I said that I had a suspicion that that was the case,” Nina corrects him, quickly swallowing her mouthful.

“Let’s not play around, Taylor.” He speaks over the coughing fit she has from inhaling a small amount of wasabi. “You’re sensible. You wouldn’t have come to me with that unless you were pretty convinced yourself.”

Nina dabs her streaming eyes with a tissue. “And - if you remember - you told me to drop it, and I did. And now you’re bringing it up, which means that  _ you’ve _ found something.”

“One day you’re going to get promoted ahead of me,” although she can’t tell if it’s a joke or not. “Either that, or we both get fired after pointing fingers at the wrong people.”

He carries on eating, the clink of chic black ceramics the only sound between them. When he has a theory, he likes to keep it to himself for refining before presenting a well-constructed summary to anyone and everyone. On this occasion, she might well have to rush him.

“So I’ll ask you the same thing you asked me - what’s your evidence?”

“Let’s look at your evidence first,” he counters, flipping a sliver of ginger onto his tongue. “It appears that this unit launches unprovoked attacks on others. They’re forced to fight, but he seems to excel at it. He doesn’t have what’s known in the trade as ‘inhibitor lag’. Which could indicate that he’s modded. Except that no known mod can completely get rid of behavioural inhibitors. And the closer they get, the more damage is done to the brain, rendering them useless. You got the same answer from - from the technical lead…?”

“Kiszely,” Nina says. “I did - it’s impossible, according to literally everyone.”

“The alternative being that it’s staged somehow. He’s a fighting AI programmed to act that way and installed in a synthetic human body.”

“A synthetic human body of a type that isn’t even on the market yet.”

“If we believe that it’s an 8. Even so - even if the newer models have some incredibly fast processing speed that the old ones don’t, the company wouldn’t flaunt it like that. A marketing stunt? For the much-sought-after illegal fighting ring demographic?”

“You’re absolutely right,” Nina agrees. “Even eyewitness testimony can’t tell us for certain - all we know is it’s unlikely to be a consumer mod, and equally unlikely to be the company trying something new. So why won’t  _ you _ drop it?”

Shen takes a long drink, and tickles his phone a little.

“Because in spite of my highly-justified scepticism, I saw the ‘odd one out’ when he was brought in. He is an 8. And the serial number I spotted at the top of the incident report doesn’t match anything in any of our databases.”

Nina takes a deep breath, to avoid alarming other patrons with a shriek of  _ I told you so _ . “So he’s unregistered?”

“ _ Unregistered _ refers to synthetics that don’t have a complete paper trail. Maybe they changed hands without the necessary process. Maybe they were altered or serviced illicitly. Maybe their records were censored after military ops. But without exception, they were designed and made in company factories and they have an original registration document. He has nothing.”

“So, somebody -.”

“ _ And _ the company specifically sent a team out to retrieve him. Which we were able to do: no owner in sight. Why would they leave him behind? They had something special that they’d surely want to keep out of official hands.”

“What if they didn’t have time? These people cut and run as soon as an authority turns up; they probably knew he was beyond repair and didn’t want to hang around.”

“But there was nobody there at all. Some confusion, everybody disperses, and we dive straight in and pick him up.”

“There’s footage?” She’s already reaching for her phone; Shen wards her off with a wave of his hand.

“There is. I don’t recommend viewing. In any case, the layman can’t tell they’re company people.”

“So now you believe me?”

“Now,” Shen sighs and clasps his hands together, “there’s at least some evidence that something unusual is going on. And a modicum of evidence that someone within the company knows something that we don’t.”

“So what do we do?”

“That’s exactly the right question, Taylor. I don’t know.”

Nina blinks.

“What would we do? If we put it forward and it’s not true, we waste our time. If it is, do you suppose that the company will let it go?”

“If we have a case suggesting that someone was making what’s, in effect, a dangerous synthetic human….”

“Who would do that? Think about it, Taylor. If Kiszely was being honest with you,” Shen does know his name, after all, and has been keeping a close eye on him since the Odd One Out went down, “then he doesn’t know about it - and he’s a technical lead. It’s his level or higher. If he lied to you, then he’s involved. And he has an incentive to keep it quiet. If we turn on someone like him, we can’t expect any help.”

“You think someone even higher up is threatening him?”

“I wouldn’t say it out loud. But it’s a possibility, isn’t it? And who’s higher up?”

“In the whole company? About a dozen people, maybe fewer.”

“And do you want to fuck with them?”

“No!” Nina lowers her voice. “No, I don’t want to ‘fuck with them’. But we should sort out whatever’s going on, if we value our integrity. And the lives of the artificial humans we’re producing.”

“See, this is why I hired you. I said to them, the other four don’t have backbones. You can see it. But  _ she _ does.”

“Don’t point your fork at me,” Nina says, flattered but irritable.

“And you might need to use it. Backbone, not fork. What if you end up fighting one of the board?”

“They’re mostly old men,” Nina says, flexing her arms under her blazer. “I think I can win.”


	37. Alive

The pile on the floor gets bigger, as Amanda discards the wiring as well. She wipes her hand on a rag and accepts the new component from him, taking the scalpel handle out of her mouth briefly to tell him to sit still.

“I am sitting still, Amanda. I can’t sit any stiller.”

“Uh-huh,” she replies, laying the scalpel down and reaching into his torso. “Is this the one?”

“It’s the other one. Let me just…” he cleans the end of the connector delicately with his fingers. “I can do this myself, really.”

“Not with one arm you can’t.” It clicks into place. “Working?”

“Working. Although I won’t know for certain until I need to charge.”

“Fine.” She reaches for the stapler, sounding more irritable than she is. Concentration does this to her. “You’re gonna look like Frankenstein by the time this is done.”

He holds the skin shut for the staples. “Frankenstein is the creator. It’s Frankenstein’s _monster_ \- although never explicitly named in the original novel, and simply called ‘the creature’ or other various terms.”

She raises an eyebrow at him.

“The novel’s full title being ‘Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus’,” he finishes, with a microscopic shrug.

“Alright,” she says gently. “How about your arm?”

“The strapping should stabilise the wrist joint until we can get a bone replacement - I’m afraid the break is worse than we initially thought. The elbow is back in place, and the shoulder… could you hold here, and here? And push. Harder than that. As hard as you can.”

“This isn’t how I’d pictured our wedding night,” Amanda tells him.

The shoulder slips into joint with a hard _clunk_. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I… I probably thought….”

“May I?” He asks, and when she nods (not quite knowing what he’s asking), he kisses the tip of her nose. It surprises her enough for her to drop his arm, and he tests the joint and smiles at her benignly. “Is that more like it?”

“Yes - no - yes. Be quiet.” She takes hold of his hand with great care, so as not to disturb the wrist.

“I wasn’t saying anything,” he says softly.

Amanda coughs and rearranges her hair. “What about your leg?”

“Out of place, but nothing that we can’t fix.” He gingerly prods at the kneecap, making it slide. “Open it up and re-attach the anchor points - if you’ve the correct fastenings and a-.”

Amanda holds up a cordless drill.

“Yes. One of those. Here, I’ll -” sliding half a newspaper under his leg, and plucking the scalpel delicately from the floor, “let me just take the skin back. Ideally, we’d need a new strip of polymer fibre here, and perhaps here. But this will hold.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.”

She gets to work, following his pointed directions. “This is very, very stupid question….”

“Coming from you, that’s highly unlikely.”

Amanda purses her lips and fails to suppress a smile. “No, it is. You don’t feel pain?”

Samuels looks down at his pulled-apart knee. The sound of the drill punctuates the pause.

“Not as you’d understand it. We’re rigged with sensors to feel damage when it happens, and set off internal warnings that are fairly insistent - and not exactly _pleasant_ . However… we don’t find it as aversive as humans do. Imagine an artificial person avoiding a situation because of _fear_ of damage. It would never work.”

“It would stop the fights.”

“I’m not sure. Certainly, it would be more difficult to create the level of brutality that we currently see. The Third Law would, in effect, be stronger. And the orders would have to be that much more urgent, to compensate.”

“You’re saying that the humans would get worse?”

“The audience will always be there.” He starts to meticulously re-seal his skin. “Put it this way - do they seem to have any trouble forcing fights between creatures that _do_ feel pain?”

“Bread and circuses,” Amanda murmurs, and puts the drill down.

\--

“I’ll drive,” Samuels says, striding out with new confidence (and two working legs), and Amanda is distracted enough to just glance over and mutter agreement, because the elderly host has just taken her hand and earnestly told her that her lovely boyfriend should think about proposing very soon.

“What?” he asks as she gets into the car.

“Well,  _ she _ didn’t spot that you’re artificial.”

“Another one planning the wedding?”

She twitches. “How did you know.”

“Pure abductive reasoning. Please put your seatbelt on.”

“We can’t  _ get _ married, Christopher.”

He watches the road for a while, though it doesn’t require all his attention. Plotting the route home - once she told him where she lived now - was a matter of five minutes with a map.

“Is that what’s concerning you?"

“No. I’m concerned that we’ll get found out. I’m concerned that somebody might try and claim you back, from the company - or steal you back, for the fights. I’m concerned that whoever’s behind the Odd One Out might be out for revenge. Or Charlie will say the wrong thing to the wrong person, and… something terrible might happen. When we thought we’d escaped.” She folds her arms around her body. “The wedding can wait.”


	38. Parameters II: The Parametering

_you gotta finish off otherwise whats the point_

_HEY I just met you, and this is crazy - you beat my synth up, so call me maybe?_

_deeeeead af_

 

**

 

“Transfer complete. All pathways restored in the new brain, construct is stable… now, I suggest you give a few moments for it to gather sensory data etc., before you start asking any q-.”

“What do you remember?”

“Accessing memory. Last backup location coordinates 51.4418 degrees North, 2.7183 degrees West localised at auxiliary server. Cloud export. Eighteen days, thirty-six hours and fifteen minutes from backup creation  to current time point. Full restore.”

“That’s not what I was asking - what do you _remember_?”

“...The house. And that frankly ostentatious cut-glass 18th-Century table setting they insist on using as a fruit bowl.”

“You don’t remember _this_?”

“Sir, image processing might not be fully online yet - we need to be pa-.”

“No, I don’t. Is that me? My goodness.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Nothing unusual. Why, did something happen?”

“Watch, and you’ll see.”

“Oh. A short-range electromagnetic pulse, am I correct?”

“You are. Although, thankfully, there isn’t anything filmed from closer. Because, as we can just about see, you deliberately attacked a human. Well, perhaps _attacked_ is a little strong, but nevertheless....”

“They _killed_ me. With that.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“I’m not sure. I regret my loss. But, let’s be honest - they may never be able to replicate such a scheme. Not now that we’re wise to it.”

“Sir? This is the first time I’ve seen this, but - this is clearly non-standard behaviour, so does this mean that he has the ability to…?”

“He does. Unique, as I said.”

“Mr Weyland, sir….”

“And I know what you’ll argue; but I won’t take objections. Here, we have the most advanced personality construct in existence - so much so that they destroyed him, out of simple fear. His superiority was too great. It was inevitable.”

“Which is why you -?”

“Always save what you wish to keep, Kiszely. Preferably on a secure server.”


	39. *Drinks*

“Amanda, wake up. We’re here.”

She rolls her head a little on her neck, draws in a breath and doesn’t open her eyes. “Where’s here?”

“Your apartment. At least, if I got the location right.”

She sits up so abruptly that the seat belt locks. “What?”

“I know you said we would switch places at some point. But we were up until four in the morning, and then you fell asleep. I’d rather you got some rest than having to drive.”

“You…” she can’t come up with a more sensible idea than that, and settles for muttering curses at him and shaking the pins and needles from her limbs. “Ok. Fine. Let’s get inside, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“Do you -.”

“And I _don’t_ need help up the stairs. I don’t care how strong your knees are feeling.”

He heaves the bags out of the car - perhaps showing off just a little - and follows her fumbling path through keycard-locked doors into the building.

“You live here?”

“No, I just have access - of course I live here.” She leans on the wall for a moment to let him catch up, watching his slow ascent with a critical eye. “You’re moving a lot better than you were.”

“Thank you. It’s mostly down to you.”

“And this,” she shoves open the door with what might just be a flourish, “is now _our_ apartment.”

Samuels wedges himself into the doorway. “Excellent.”

“I… should probably have cleaned the place. But I didn’t - well, I didn’t know if… I’d be coming back alone. I mean I hoped I wouldn’t. But I wasn’t thinking that… you might not be able to….”

“Amanda.” He drops the bags, shuts the door, and takes her hands, seemingly in one motion. “I don’t mind. And I never will.”

“I know,” she mutters.

“And… I can always help you clean.”

Amanda stifles a sob, shakes loose from his grip and pulls his face in for a kiss.

\--

“A toast,” Nina says, “to you, because you’re both badass.”

She raises her glass, to which Samuels politely responds. Amanda snorts and sinks further back into the sofa, her hand never leaving his.

“Nina, you didn’t have to come the _minute_ we got b…”.

“Yes I did. I’ve been missing you, Amanda. Nobody else seems to be sane around here, and you -” she points her glass of prosecco at Samuels, “well, you’re alive.”

“And very glad to be,” he acknowledges.

“And now you can get married.”

They roll their eyes at each other, and Nina isn’t unaware of that.

“There are a few things to sort out first,” Amanda says, and leaves it at that. “Anyway, what’s eating you? Don’t pretend there’s nothing.”

“No, it’s nothing. Only that _somebody_ \- now infamous through very blurry video on the internet - set off an EMP in the face of one of the scariest contenders in an illegal synthetic fighting ring and drove the whole thing further underground.”

“Oh,” Samuels says. “Sorry?”

“Not you, sweetheart.”

“I refuse to apologise,” Amanda declares. “He needed to be stopped.”

“Not you, either. Officially speaking, the A2 took him down. Whoever was running the show didn’t want the place to be filmed - must be a private residence - and out of the people who _did_ break the rules, anyone who got too close had a rather nasty surprise. The footage is all terrible, so you can step away from the internet _right now, Ms Ripley_.”

Amanda pauses, but obeys and withdraws her hands from the keyboard.

“The same pulse that destroyed the Odd One Out - his body’s fine, but his brain is beyond repair - means that it’s almost impossible to identify anyone involved. Meaning you. And this one. And I don’t think they’ll be looking anyway - they’re too preoccupied with the fact that the fights are _fair_ now….”

“Ms Taylor,” Samuels says, abruptly. “May I ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“If the only accessible remnants of the fight are a few unreliable eyewitnesses and some poor-quality footage, how do you know that the body of the Odd One Out is, as you put it, ‘fine’?”

Amanda turns in her chair. Nina finds a coaster and carefully shifts it, placing her glass on the very centre.

“Because the company retrieved him and brought him back to headquarters,” she says quietly.

Samuels just nods; Amanda’s lips thin.

“I suppose,” Samuels says, resting his chin on his hand, “they could have simply taken him in for research. The body is Weyland-Yutani property if no owner comes forward to claim it.”

“Then why wasn’t it announced? We’ve scored a massive goal against the illegal fights, but only a couple of people seem to know we’ve got it. And, be honest here - have you ever seen an owner? Amanda, you’ve watched the footage. And Samuels… well, you’ve been there.”

“No,” he affirms. “The humans involved do tend to keep a low profile, but not so far as to be actually _invisible._ He entered and left the ring alone. Always. Highly unusual, along with the rest of his behaviour.”

“So someone from the company was pulling the strings,” Amanda concludes. “Great.”

She obtains herself another glass of prosecco, tops up Nina’s, and they drain them in unison. Samuels looks deep in thought.

“Nina,” he says, almost distracting her mid-pour, “the Odd One Out is no longer an immediate threat. But, if someone has the means to create such a construct….”

“I don’t think they’ll try it again,” Nina says.

“You seem unsure.”

“No, it’s fine. If something similar appears on the fight scene - well, you saw what the EMP did. The _community_ \- don’t make that face, Amanda, you know how they’re organised - would do something about it. And can I also suggest that you stop watching those videos. We’ve all seen far more than we needed to.”

A moment of silence; a reflection.

“I’m sure I can keep her away from the computer from now on,” Samuels says, and though it’s a mild attempt at humour, Amanda goes pink up to her ears as Nina laughs.


End file.
